


Violet Court

by steampunkmagic



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Forced Marriage, Lots of Angst, Mistaken Identity, Not sure how to tag this saga...., Princes & Princesses, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 41,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steampunkmagic/pseuds/steampunkmagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Clara Oswald is your typical girl until one day she finds herself in the land of Shades. Two courts, Gray and Violet, are in a power struggle for control of the Kingdoms. When Clara is mistaken for the missing Violet Princess, Oswin, how will she find her way home? But when she starts to fall for the Gray Knight, John Smith, will she even want to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jump

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings Lovely Readers!
> 
> The idea for this story has sorta taken over my brain and if I didn't start writing it I was going to go crazy. This is a bigger AU then I've ever done before so it will be interesting to see what people think about it. And believe me its going to be very AU. Magic, Princesses, prophecies the whole deal!
> 
> Well anyway... On with the insanity! I always love reviews!
> 
> Enjoy :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment she hangs frozen in the water, her hair bellowing out around her in a halo. The slow current pulls at her clothes. She can't think. Her body won't move. Clara's lungs begin to burn, desperate for air.

  


 

**~Jump~**

 

                Looking down at the murky water Clara tries to remember what brought her to this truly idiotic moment.

                Clara lives in a small village smack-dab on the cross roads of the middle-of-nowhere and you'll-never-see-civilization-again.  It isn't like they live in the Stone Age or anything.  But the internet is slow and since most of the town's residences are over 60 they elect not to bother with it at all.

                Computers are Clara's _thing_.  She can do anything on one, legal or no.  By the time she was twelve Clara was the town's unofficial Geek Squad.  If anyone has a technology problem they come to her.

                Maybe that's one of the reasons she never really fit in.  Not that she doesn't love her town, because she does.  It's quaint and peaceful.  And no one ever has to lock their doors.  It's the perfect place to grow up.   It's also a bit boring if Clara is being honest.

                She wants to see London and New York and 101 other places.  She wants to go dancing in Rome, hiking in Nepal.   Have a scandalous affair with a Persian art student.  Ok, maybe not that last one but still.  Clara wants more than quaint and peaceful.

                Her friends Nina and Sam are more than willing to help her out with this.  Crazy shit tends to happen whenever they are together.  They've been wreaking havoc and causing chaos since they were six.  Clara would swear they never directly intend to create chaos.   Well except that time they rewired the village's annual New Year's fireworks display.   Though they really didn't mean to set the Johnson's barn on fire.

                Today is just the icing on the cake of stupid stunts.

                Clara is currently standing outside the railing of Broken Bridge holding on for dear life.  The harsh October wind slaps her face and whips her dark hair.  She stares down at the muddy water below imagining just how cold it will be. 

                This is all because of Sam and his bet.  Two weeks' worth of tips from the dinner they both work at against her daring to jump.   Clara really hates the idea but she couldn't back down now.   He and Nina will never let her hear the end of it if she refuses the bet.

                It isn't that the bridge iss even all that high; it's the fact that _no one_ jumps Broken Bridge.  Clara can't remember a single person in the entire history of their puny little town who even swam in the river.  People just avoid it.  Birds fly around it, animals steer clear of it.  And here Clara is about to leap right in. 

                The bridge is old and built of weather beaten, moss covered boards.   It looks much like any other old walking bridge.  There is nothing about it which screams 'stay away' or 'woe to all depraved souls' or anything.     It's just an ordinary bridge over an ordinary creek.   None of that helps relive Clara's goose bumps or her pounding heart.  The place doesn't look wrong but it feels wrong. 

                "Are you wimping out?" Nina calls from the relative safety of the wooden planks.

                Clara turns to glare at her working to keep her balance on the thin ledge.  "Shut up and get out your wallet!"

                Taking one last deep breath she throws herself off the side.

                With a scream of exhilaration Clara plunges downwards, cold air rushing past her face.  The fall is so fast it hardly registers.  One second she's in the air, the next she's breaking the surface.  The icy water is like a knife in her chest, freezing the blood in her veins.   The shock stops Clara's limbs and disorients her completely. 

                For a moment she hangs frozen in the water, her hair bellowing out around her in a halo.   The slow current pulls at her clothes.   She can't think.  Her body won't move.   Clara's lungs begin to burn, desperate for air.

                Suddenly her brain snaps back into action as she starts to kick towards the surface.  Only Clara doesn't know where the surface is anymore.   Black in every direction, nothing but solid black.  Clara begins to panic.   She needs to breathe.   Why can't she see anything?  The creek isn't this deep.

                Everything is growing fuzzy.  Oxygen deprivation is setting in.  Clara sinks slowly into the abyss.   She forgets to struggle.  She forgets to hold her breath.  What an idiotic way to die.

                Clara sinks deeper and deeper oblivious to the passage of time.  Universes are born and die; the world turns, or does the clock mark only seconds?

                  It is all the same here.

                 Steadily the black begins to dissipate.  Violet tented light opens up below Clara's body.    The darkness of the water slowly fades in its wake.  It's as if the sun is shining through the water below her.   How's that possible?   Is she drifting down or floating up?

                 Clara slips into the shadows of her own mind without an answer.

 

 


	2. Somewhere Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara bolts. She runs knowing there's no escaping the spectral giants. They will overtake her in seconds. She screams, running blindly, imagining hot breath at the back of her neck. She can hear them, feel them behind her. Clara runs faster than she's ever run before. Her chest is burning and she can't catch a breath. She keeps going.

**~Somewhere Else~**

 

                Gray sand clings to Clara's skin.  She can feel the gritty texture covering her body.  It's warm here while a cool breeze tickles her skin.  Somewhere nearby is running water.  Clara can hear its soft burbling noises as it flows over rocks and stones.  She lays there in the sand waiting for some other new sensation.  Her mind is too muddled for anything else.

                After awhile Clara finally decides she should open her eyes.  That seems like a good safe plan.  It's an action which takes a lot more effort than it should have.  Her body is drained of energy.  She feels like she ran for miles only to collapse here, wherever here is exactly.  She's stalling.  Slowly Clara blinks open her eyes and immediately has to close them again.  The purple light of the sun is blinding.

                Wait, _purple light_?

                Shielding her eyes with a hand Clara sits up.  The sand shakes loose from her skin and clothing, falling off in sheets.   She inspects the salt and rock crystals still clinging to her hands.   Why would there be sand here?  Clara can't remember there being sand before.   Though she's having a hard time focusing on anything in the 'before' category.    Also wasn't sand more of a yellowish color?  This is all a light dove gray.  

                 Clara squints up towards the sun waiting for her eyes to adjust.   Once they do Clara has a hard time processing what she's seeing.   The sun is at its zenith glowing high above her.  She can feel it's warmth on her upturned face.   It looks almost the same as usual except its traditional orange coloring is tinged with purple.    The shade of the sweet lilacs which grow in Clara's front garden.   This strange phenomenon makes the very air appear dusted with lilac, like she's looking at the world through Victorian glasses.

                Clara is quickly coming to the realization that something is seriously wrong.  Nothing about this place seems familiar.   All the shades and colors are either muted or wrong.   She isn't sure if it is wholly because of the violet sun or if everything is simply a different color than it should be.   There is no vibrancy here.  Part of Clara knows this should probably worry her, but she feels too numb for much of any emotion at all.  

                _Maybe I'm in shock_ , Clara thinks rationally, that makes sense.   _When bizarre shit happens people go into shock._

                Of course, Clara can't remember what  happened to make her go into shock in the first place.   She glances around trying to catalog her surroundings.   She's sitting on a small sand bank beside a river.   The water flows lazily, lapping against the shore.   It's so clear she can see the rocks and stones which line the bottom.   It's like looking through glass.   Tiny, dark fish dart about in the current oblivious to her presence.   

                Clara's gaze follows a trail of drag marks from the edge of the water through the sand to where she is sitting.   It seems like she dragged herself out of the river and passed out here.   She must have been lying on the bank for a long time because she isn't wet.  Even her clothes are dry.   Stiff and coated in more sand than she will probably ever be able to get out, but dry.

                  The river sparks something in her memory, this all has to do with water. 

                The river is surrounded by forest.   Tall, dense pines spread out as far as Clara can see.   Their needles are so dark they appear black.   The more she stares at them, the more Clara is certain the needles actually are black.   Jet black.  It's as if this forest is formed by the shadows of another.    And these trees are merely the darkness cast by the real thing.   She finds the idea deeply unnerving.

                Clara averts her eyes from the dark pines.  Her attention is grabbed by a flash of light.   A few hundred yards up the river is a bridge.   It has to be one of the most beautiful things she has ever seen.   The light of the sun catches on the jewel incrusted white metal it's formed from.    The cast iron twists and spirals creating an intricate railing and archway which covers the expanse.    Sparkling stones are inset throughout the design.   They sent reflections scattering across the river below.   It's extravagant and seems highly out of place in the middle of a forest.   A rickety old wooden bridge would make more sense.

                A wooden bridge!   Everything comes rushing back to Clara.   Sam and Nina dared her to jump from Broken Bridge.   She remembers hitting the icy waters but not resurfacing.   Instead she kept sinking and sinking.  Then nothing else.   Clara must have blacked out. 

                "Oh shit, I'm dead!" she cries in disbelief.  "I drowned!"

                But then where the hell is she?   This lonely expanse doesn't really seem like Heaven and there are no eternal flames so it probably isn't Hell.    Not that Clara believes in an afterlife.   Though she's clearly _somewhere_.   She remembers that the Underworld in Greek mythology involved rivers.   Since Clara still knows who she is and isn't chard to a crisp this river probably isn't Lethe or Phlegethon.   Maybe it's Styx?  

                No matter what river this is just sitting here won't help her any.  Swallowing down her rising panic Clara drags herself to her feet.   She dusts off her clothing.  Everything feels solid and real.  What if she isn't dead after all?  Either way she's stuck here.

                   Heading towards the bridge seems like the best option, since who would build a bridge unless there's a path leading to it?   And hopefully that path leads to civilization of some kind.   She starts off in that direction.   The closer she get to the bridge the more detail she can make out of the design of the twisted metal.

                  The complex patterns are more than just geometrically interesting, they actually form tiny scenes.   Deer, wolves, and birds weave in and out of depictions of hunters and royals.   They look like they tell a story or perhaps a series of myths, none of which Clara recognize.   That bothers her a bit but at least the designs indicate that there are other people here. 

                The bridge does indeed connect to a wide dirt path which disappears into the forest in both directions.  There are deep ruts cut into it.   Wagons or carts often traveled this way.  There are also many trampled footsteps.   A large sign hangs across the entrance to the bridge reading, Royal Road.  

                After a moments deliberation Clara chooses the side of the road she's already on.   She isn't a fan of heading into the creepy forest but obviously by the wear on the path people do this all the time.   It can't be too terrible.  

                The sun all but disappears the moment she passes under the canopy of the pine trees.   It goes from noon to dusk instantly.   The silence is absolute.   All she can hear iss the rustle of the breeze in the branches and the soft, distant call of birds.  Clara shivers and hunches her shoulders.  At first she worries that she won't be able to see where she's going.   Then little lights appear along the path.   They are placed every few yards keeping an even white glow on the ground. 

                Clara kneels down to examine one.   Up close it looks like a small white flame dancing just above the soil.   She doesn't see any electrical wiring or any other means of power.   It really looks like a tiny bit of fire just floating there.   Clara reaches out cautiously to touch it expecting to feel heat; instead the flame is cool and doesn't burn her skin.   It's like dipping her finger into water.   The hairs on the back of her neck raise.   What is this, the Land of Oz?

                Clara continues on the path for a long time.   She's actually starting to calm down.  Nothing's happened and she hasn't come across anyone else.    At some point she comes to the conclusion that she isn't dead or dreaming.   This seems rather pointless for death and way too realistic for dreaming.   It left only one option.  Clara is somewhere _else_.    

                Where exactly that somewhere else happens to be is what freaks her out.   She's read books and seen movies where this kind of thing happens.   But that's fantasy, this is reality.   Clara wonders if Sam and Nina are still waiting for her at Broken Bridge or has enough time passed there that they assume she drowned.   What will they tell her parents?   Will anyone ever know what happened to her? 

                Clara wills herself not to start crying. 

                _Crack!_

                A twig snaps in the forest to her left.   Clara freezes, holding her breath.   She peers out straining to see into the gloom.   Something moves between the trees.  She lets out a small squeak of fear before clamping her hand over her mouth.   More things move in the darkness.  Large, lithe shapes.   Prowling shapes.    They are all around her, circling the path.   Her heart is beating in her throat.   Clara stands quivering like a frightened rabbit. 

                Glowing red eyes turn on her.   Seven sets of cold, hungry eyes watch her from the darkness.   Clara can make out the shapes now.   They are wolves.   Wolves the size of horses.   They move like smoke through the trees.   Their dark, shaggy hides are translucent.   Yet their fiery eyes and gnashing teeth seem all too real.   The spectral wolves are unlike anything Clara has seen before. 

                A low growl tears through the silence.   She can sense the predatory hunger behind that sound.   And some primal part of her knows she's on the menu.   One of the wolves growls again, a low rumble which vibrates though the trees.  It takes a step forward, stalking its prey. 

                Clara bolts.   She runs knowing there's no escaping the spectral giants.  They will overtake her in seconds.   She screams, running blindly, imagining hot breath at the back of her neck.   She can hear them, feel them behind her.   Clara runs faster than she's ever run before.   Her chest is burning and she can't catch a breath.   She keeps going. 

                Her foot catches on a root sending Clara sprawling onto the loamy earth.   Her heart is in her throat.   This is it.   She squeezes her eyes tight not wanting to see the wolves before they attack.   They are growling and snarling.   They are right next to her.

                Suddenly Clara hears a twanging noise and one of the beast lets out a great howl of pain.   Looking up in surprise she sees a flaming arrow sticking out of the chest of the nearest wolf.   Another fiery arrow flies past striking a second wolf.   The pack howls and whines in fear and anger.   A third arrow sends the pack running.   The ground shakes with their paws as they disappear into the forest.  

                Heavy footfalls come down the path.   Sore and bruised, but otherwise unharmed Clara sits up.   She hopes her rescuer is better than the wolves.   She's leery of anything in this place.   After a moment a man comes into view.   He's tall and handsome, she can tell even in the dim light.    His dark hair is short and sticks up, and his blue eyes sparkle.   He wears a long, dark coat with brass buttons which makes him appear even taller than he is.

                The man watches Clara with a mixture of amusement and surprise.   He must not come across strange girls in the forest too often.   A bright, slightly alluring smile spreads across his handsome features.   Clara's heart stutters against her will.  

                "Well, hello there." the man grins.  "What's a pretty young thing like you doing out here all by yourself?"

                Clara doesn't answer.  She isn't sure about this situation.   He doesn't seem very threatening, at least not towards her.   Though, he does have a bow over one shoulder and what looks like a sword at his belt.   An armed stranger flirting with her in the middle of a dark forest is more than a bit unnerving. 

                He guesses what Clara's thinking.  "It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you.   My name's Jack, Jack Harkness.   What's yours?"   He holds out a hand to help her to her feet. 

                "Clara Oswald."

                Jack waits until she's dusted herself off before speaking again.  "So what _are_ you doing in the middle of the Lost Woods by yourself?"

                "You’re here by yourself." she points out.

                He laughs, "I work here, I'm a Huntsman."

                "A Huntsman?"

                "Yes, I track down the Nightmares." Jack says.

                Clara nods  as if that sentence makes any sense to her at all.   "So where are we exactly?"

                Jack frowns, "The Lost Woods."

                "Umm…and where are the Lost Woods, like what country?"

                His frown deepens.  "The Lost Woods is unclaimed that's why it's lost.   How did you get here?"

                Clara hesitates knowing how weird this is going to sound, though maybe people just magically appear by the river all the time here.  "I don't know.  I was in England and then I was here.  I woke up near the bridge on the river."

                Jack's eyes widen.  "I don't know where this England place is, but this is Shades.   Wow, this is a new one even for me.   You best come with me, since I can't leave you out here to get eaten.   Besides Alonso's making stew and you look like you could do with something to eat."

                Clara nods and allows Jack to lead her out of the forest.

 


	3. The Huntsmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inside of the cabin is just as sparse as the outside. Nothing but the essentials - couch, chairs, fireplace. There is however a large assortment of weapons hanging on one wall. Swords, knifes, daggers, and a lot of things Clara has no name for. Those weapons and the shelf of jars below them look like they might belong better in the shop of Voodoo priest. Clara doesn't think she wants to know what the bright powders in the jars are for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings My Lovelies!
> 
> Late again. It seems the universe is out to get this story. First carpel tunnel now my neighbor's car bursting into flames and threatening to burn down the block (no seriously that happened yesterday) 0_O Wonder what weirdness will happen next week...
> 
> Anyway on with the show!
> 
> I always love reviews  
> Enjoy :D

**~The Huntsmen~**

 

                Jack obviously knows the forest well.   He confidently strides down the path keeping up a steady stream of conversation.   He's lively and personable and before long he starts telling Clara stories of his more outlandish adventures as a Huntsman.   There is no way most of them actually happened.   Saving scantily clad women from three headed beasts seems highly unlikely, but that doesn't stop Clara from laughing so hard it hurts. 

                "That's seriously what you do for a living?  You hunt monsters?"

                "I hunt Nightmares." Jack corrects.

                "Like those wolf things?"

                "The Nightmares live in the outer reaches only coming out to feed.   They're the children of Darkness itself whose only purpose is to destroy.   The Crown pays idiots like me to keep them in check and stop them from eating the traders who use the Royal Road."

                Clara can't quite wrap her mind around the idea.  She's out of her depth here.  A place where monsters, or Nightmares - or whatever they were called - are real.    Lost in her own thoughts it's awhile before she realizes Jack is still talking to her. 

                "Dinner should be nearly ready by the time we get back.   Alonso's always making too much so you don't need to worry about that.   Plus I think he'll just be happy to talk to someone new for a change."

                The way Jack says Alonso's name makes it pretty obvious he's his husband or at least boyfriend.   You can see it all over his face.   She's seen that look on more than one newlywed back home.   Jack maybe a natural flirt but he is clearly taken.   Clara finds herself really looking forward to meeting this Alonso character trying to imagine what kind of man could tame someone like Jack.

                She doesn't have to wait long.   Less than ten minutes later the trees begin to thin.   There is light ahead.  The false dusk of the forest canopy gives way to the actual dusk of the darkening sky.    Clara squints trying to see the end of the path.  

                A tiny cluster of log cabins are nestled together at the edge of the forest.    The grouping is too small to be considered a village with only five houses.   Cheerful lights flicker in the windows fighting off the darkness of the impeding night.   The newly awakened stars fill the sky overhead in numbers Clara has never seen before.   Thousands of diamonds which shine down upon the little cabins.  

                Jack leads her to one of the middle cabins.  There are a few half welted flower pots on the front porch and a stone wind chime, but other than that it's pretty sparse.   As one would expect from a house run by two men.   Whatever the décor is lacking is made up for by the smell coming from inside.   The scent of a home cooked meal is almost overpowering. 

                They're about to step inside when a voice calls from the next cabin, "Jack!  Who do ya got there?"

                Clara realizes what she'd originally thought was a pile of fabric sitting on the steps of the house next door is actually a woman.   She's wearing a ridiculous amount of mismatched layers of clothing.   When she stands up and steps into the light of the porch lantern Clara is surprised to see that the woman is blind.  

                Her eyes are snow white and glazed over.   Deep scaring cut through the delicate features of her face leaving long angry welts.   Despite this she is still pretty in a simple way and her expression is kind.  The girl can't be much older than Clara herself. 

                "Evening Ada!" Jack calls with a smile in his voice, "Made a new friend.   Clara Oswald this is Ada Gillyflower one of the best trackers in Shades."

                "Hello." Clara says uncertainly. 

                "Another woman!  Thank goodness.   It's just me, mother, and a bunch of bloody men out here.  You can imagine how much fun that is."

                Clara laughs deciding she liked Ada.   Jack meanwhile grimaces in mock annoyance. 

                "Oh I see how it is." he grumbles before walking into his house. 

                "See you at dinner." Ada calls after them with a chuckle.

                The inside of the cabin is just as sparse as the outside.  Nothing but the essentials - couch, chairs, fireplace.  There  is however a large assortment of weapons hanging on one wall.  Swords, knifes, daggers, and a lot of things Clara has no name for.  Those weapons and the shelf of jars below them look like they might belong better in the shop of Voodoo priest.   Clara doesn't think she wants to know what the bright powders in the jars are for.

                "Jack, honey, is that you?"

                A timid looking young man sticks his head around the door leading to the kitchen.  He's boyish with dark hair and large ears.  His eyes widen when he sees Clara in her jeans and graphic-tee.  Seeing as Alonso's also wearing clothes which appear handmade from rough linens, Clara figures her _Little Mermaid_ shirt probably looks really alien.

                "Oh.  Umm… Hi." Alonso glances at Jack for explanation. 

                His eyes glitter with amusement, "I picked up another stray."

                Alonso stares at him for a minute then rolls his eyes and turns back to her, "He's always doing stuff like this.  No matter, you're just in time.   I'm Alonso incase my thoughtless husband failed to mention that."

                She smiles shyly, "He did.  I'm Clara, by the way."

                He gives her a searching look.  "Have we met before?"

                "No, I don't see how we could have."

                Clara and Jack relate the bizarre story of how they met.  Alonso's eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline before the end of it.  His expression shifts from curiosity to wonder.  Though they're both being extremely nice to her, Clara is starting to feel like a circus sideshow. 

                "Wow."

                "That's what I said."

***

                Dinner is a communal event.  Behind the cluster of houses is a small clearing ringed with oak trees.  The oak trees have the same black leaves as the pine needles and their bark is gray.  Set among the tall branches are more of the little white fire lights from the path in the forest.  They make the whole place sparkle and glow like icicle lights on Christmas.  In the center of the clearing is a long ancient table.  The wood is aged and scared from the thousands of meals it has hosted in its time.

                People from the other houses are laying out food when they come out with Alonso's stew.  Ada and an old woman, who must be the aforementioned mother, are already there.   The rest are all men, many of whom give Clara very appreciative stares.  She get the feeling they don't see too many women this far out. 

                Jack introduces her and once again relates her story.  That gets everyone talking as they dig into their meal.  Clara can hardly eat because she's so busy answering questions about where she comes from.  Some of the men just shake their heads in disbelief when she describes things like cars and electricity.  Though to be fair if someone showed up in her town talking about ghost-monsters and magic she'd be equally skeptical. 

                The old woman, Mrs. Gillyflower, says nothing only watching Clara with an intense expression.  It feels like the woman is trying to read her mind.  And it isn't until Clara startes asking questions about Shades that she speaks up.

                "You know I never forget a face, deary." she says in a falsely sweet voice.

                Clara doesn't know what Mrs. Gillyflower is talking about.  Neither apparently does anyone else.  

                "What do you mean, mama?" asks Ada.   She sounds a little leery.

                "Oh just that I recognize our new friend here." says Gillyflower, "No one else finds her familiar looking?"

                Alonso frowns.

                "What are you-?" Clara begins.

                "There's no reason to keep pretending, Princess.  I know who you are."

                Silence greets Gillyflower's words.  The men glance between the old woman and Clara uncertainly.   Slowly dawning recognition lights in a few of their eyes.  Clara isn't sure what's happing, but she doesn't like it.

                "She's the spitting image." mutters a man at the end of the table.

                "Princess Oswin." breathes another.

                Everyone starts arguing at once.  Jack has to shout and bang his cup on the old table to get them to shut up.

                "Enough!" he cries.  "Stop acting like a bunch of old biddies!"

                Mrs. Gillyflower huffs in annoyance.  Jack ignores her.

                "Who is Princess Oswin?" Clara demands.

                His brow furrows, inspecting her face closely.  "Heir to the throne of the Violet Kingdom.  She disappeared.   Vanished right out of the palace.  No one's been able to find her or someone to blame.  Of course some think the Gray Kingdom had something to do with it.  They've been on the brink of war ever since." 

                "And you think I'm her?"

                Jack hesitates.  The rest of the group watches him expectantly.  It seems he's the one in charge among the Huntsman and whatever he says goes.

                "I can't deny you look like her, I mean its _uncanny_.  But I believe you."  Jack glances around the table as though challenging anyone to say otherwise.  "If she says she's not Oswin, she's not Oswin.  End of discussion.   And now we're going to help her get back to her own world."

                Mrs. Gillyflower glares at him than get to her feet and marches off.  No one stops her.   Apparently Ada doesn’t get her friendly disposition from her mother. 

                "We don't even know how she got here in the first place," Ada points out, "How are we supposed to send her back?"

                Jack deflates a bit.

                "We'll think of something." Alonso assures.

                Clara is glad they chose to believe her even if there's no logical reason to.  The situation is fucked up on every level.  She does wonder about the missing Princess and if she really looks that much like her.  Or have the Hunters been out here on the edge of no-wheres-ville so long they're just jumping to conclusions. 

                Afterwards, dinner is cleaned up with an efficiency that spoke of routine.  Clara helps, thankful for the mindlessness of washing dishes.  It helps her avoid thinking.   Jack and Alonso put her up in their spare room.  It's nothing more than a rickety bed with an old patched up quilt, but Clara can't thank them enough.

                "Don't worry." Jack says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

                Clara's throat is tight and she can't respond.  Blinking back suppressed tears she nods.  They understand and leave her alone to get some rest.  Changing into the long nightdress Ada lent her, Clara slips under the covers. 

                Lying there waiting for sleep she can't hold back her tears any longer.  Clara sobs silently into her pillow until exhaustion win out and she falls into a fitful slumber.

                It is just before dawn when Clara wakes to the front door being kicked in.

 

 


	4. The Violet City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara gasps as the stick is ripped from her hands. The captain snaps it in half making her flinch. He throws the now useless weapon to the side then grabs Clara roughly by the hair. She shrieks in pain as he drags her forward.

**~The Violet City~**

 

                The crash of the door bouncing off the wall shakes the entire cabin.  Clara sits bolt upright, for a moment she can't remember where she is.  Then she hears Jack shouting.  She jumps out of the small bed glancing around for some sort of weapon.  There's a stick that looks like it's used for propping open the window.  Clara snatches it up and holds it aloft like a club.  It probably won't weld any damage, but it's better than nothing.  Especially since she has no idea what's going on.

                Large thumping boots rattle up the staircase to the tiny landing beyond her door.  Many pairs of large boots by the sound of it.

                "Where is she?" demands a gruff voice.

                Clara's heart skips a beat.  These people are looking for her?  She glances back at the tiny window beside the bed.  If she jumped she would probably be fine and she could be in the woods before anyone realizes she's gone.

                "Get out of my house!"  Jack shouts. 

                Alonso cries out as there's the sound of a body hitting the wall.  Clara makes up her mind.  There's no way she's going to stand here and do nothing.  Flinging herself through the door, Clara swings the stick around preparing to whack anyone who comes towards her.  Despite her fierce expression, a young woman in a night dress isn't very threatening. 

                A troupe of armed men and women in matching uniforms crowd the stairs.  They ware chain mail covered by purple tunics embroidered with a silver crest of swan.  Each has a long sword belted at their waists.  The man in front has Jack by the throat.  He's large and muscular with a deeply lined face and gold hair.    Alonso's on the ground with a cut above his right eye.   Jack is putting up one hell of a fight for a man in nothing but a pair of cotton trousers.  He's landing punches left and right.  Nevertheless he doesn't stand a chance against so many armed soldiers. 

                "Let him go!" Clara yells trying to sound braver than she actually feels at that moment.  At least her voice isn't shaking.   She's afraid but she refuses to let them see it. 

                The man fighting Jack freezes when he sees her.  His eyes go wide before he hits Jack one last time then jumps to attention.   The rest of the company, who wear equal expressions of shock, follow suit. 

                "Princess, I'm glad to see you are unharmed." says the leader as if he wasn't just beating on her new friend.  "We've subdued your kidnappers, they will be dealt with.  You're safe now." 

                Clara stands there holding her stupid stick trying to process what's happening.   She waits tables and fixes computers for a living for god's sake!  She isn't cut out for this medieval bullshit.  One detail she latches onto, "They didn't kidnap me.  I just met them." 

                "Yeah so get the fuck off me!" Jack spits.

                Wrenching himself free of the captain's grasp, he immediately kneels down to check on his husband.   Alonso is only shaken and Jack helps him to his feet.  The captain looks disappointed as though he wants nothing more than to execute the lot of them.    He smoothes his expression before glancing back at Clara. 

                "I'm not who you think I am." she says quickly, backing away from him.   

                She isn't an idiot, Clara knows better than to let him get a hold of her.   This man is a bully, plain and simple.  All her panicked brain can think is, _I just_ _want to go home.  I just want to go home._

                "Princess Oswin, my men and I have travelled far looking for you.  It would be best for all of us if you let us return you to the palace quietly. "

                Clara doesn't miss the undercurrent threat.  He will drag her back quietly or not.  She has to make him understand. 

                "I'm not Oswin!  My name is Clara!"  She waves the stick in front of her threateningly.   "Just stay the hell away from me!"

                The captain laughs.   It's harsh and demeaning, making Clara feel like a child in the presence of a giant.   It pisses her off.   Her whole life people make her feel like an outcast.   At school, at work.   Just because Clara isn't like everyone else in their village.   So when the captain takes a step towards her she hits him square in the face with the butt end of the stick.   There's a sickening crunch as his noise brakes.

                "I said stay the fuck away from me!" she hisses.

                Pure rage flashes in the captain's eyes as he wipes away the blood now running down his face.    Clara holds her breath wondering if he's about to run her through with his sword.   Instead he does something worse, he smiles.   It's the grin of someone who knows they can hurt you and is going to enjoy doing it.   

                Clara gasps as the stick is ripped from her hands.  The captain snaps it in half making her flinch.   He throws the now useless weapon to the side then grabs Clara roughly by the hair.   She shrieks in pain as he drags her forward. 

                Jack and Alonso both try to come to her aid but are stopped by the other soldiers.   They train their swords on them holding them back.   Jack glares, sizing them up.  It's clear from his expression he's planning on taking them all on. 

                "Sir." cautions one of the women, placing a hand on the captain's arm.  "Remember she is the Princess." 

                It takes a moment for the man to relinquish his grip on her hair.   He keeps a tight hold on her upper arm to prevent her from running.   Clara blinks past the tears caused by pain blurring her vision.  She wants to scream and kick and claw his eyes out.  

                "My apologies, Highness." The captain says with false contrition.   "You are clearly under the spell of a Trade Witch.   For your safety you must come with us."

                Clara glares, right into his dark eyes.  "I will not."

                The captain smiles again and slowly turns to glance at Jack and Alonso.   "If you don't I'll kill them."

                What the hell is she supposed to do?  This is all insane.  She's just Clara Oswald the computer nerd from the middle of nowhere.   She isn't important, she isn't special, and she certainly isn't a princess.  Why is any of this happening to her?  What divine power did she piss off? 

                "Don't listen to him!" Alonso cries, earning nothing except a punch to the gut. 

                Clara sighs closing her eyes.  "Alright." she whispers.

                "Good girl."

                "Clara don't." Jack warns.

                "What was I supposed to do, let you die?" she says sadly as the soldiers march her from the house.  

                Jack and Alonso watch her go with equal looks of anger and horror.   Clara wants to thank them for their kindness.   She hopes her actions speak for her.  Not that she feels all that noble at the moment.  Clara really just feels like a scared confused girl.   A girl separated from her family and friends with no control over her fate. 

                A large gilded carriage is waiting outside.   It's pulled by four black horses and surrounded by several more.   The doors bare the same family crest as the soldier's uniforms.   Just as Clara's being shoved inside she catches a glimpse of Mrs. Gillyflower standing on her front porch.  She grins smugly as one of the men hands her a satchel of gold.  

                "It was you!" Clara shouts at the horrid old hag, "You called them!  You sold me out!"

                Mrs. Gillyflower laughs brightly, "Even I have enough power to send a simple message, deary."

                Clara can do nothing but continue to shout expletives as the door is slammed shut.  The carriage pulls away from the tiny cluster of log cabins and back onto the Royal Road.   The mounted soldiers fall into step alongside the carriage forming an honor guard.    She watches as the houses slowly fade into the distance. 

                The captain, who Clara learns is named Angelo, and the female officer who spoke  up are the only other people in the carriage with her.   Not that she's going to say anything but Clara's glad the woman is there.   She obviously thinks this Princess Oswin should be treated with respect which means as long as she's there she'll keep Angelo somewhat in check.   

                Leaning back against the violet cushions of the push interior Clara does her best to ignore the pair of them.   The captain is still eyeing her the way a cat would a mouse.   Since there's nothing she can do now, Clara stares out the window watching the countryside roll past. 

                  The Lost Woods are a long ways behind them when they begin to pass villages and towns.  Clara studied medieval art history in collage.   It's as if all those boring slide projections have come to life.  Farmers and blacksmiths and women hanging out clotheslines.  Even in her current predicament she can't help but be amazed.   The farther they travel the nicer and bigger the towns get.   Wood houses give way to stone ones and dirt roads become paved with cobblestones.   Obviously the closer you live to the capital the more money you have.

                "You're lucky we found you when we did." says the woman suddenly, breaking the silence of the last few hours. 

                "And why's that?" Clara mutters.

                She seems surprised by her response.  "The Harvest Festival tomorrow.  The emissaries from the Gray Court are already on their way.  Your presence will ease the tensions between the Kingdoms."

                Angelo huffs, "That won't stop anything.  War is coming like it or not."  He seems to relish the idea. 

                Clara doesn't respond.   She doesn't want to get involved in any of this.  Hopefully the royal family will see that she not their daughter and can find some way to get her back home.  It's the only idea keeping her going at this point. 

                It isn't much longer before the carriage reaches the outskirts of a great walled city.   Clara's mouth falls open as the two story white walls cast a shadow over them.    They pass through a giant set of wooden doors manned by a patrol of heavily armed guards.   An archway above the doors proclaimes the name of the capitol in three foot tall letters.

                VIOLET CITY

                Once inside the wall, which is several feet thick, Clara can finally see the palace of the Violet Court.   It stands, raised on a hill, in the center of the great city towering over everything.   Built from the same white stone as the wall its many towers and turrets glitter in the afternoon sun.   The roof tiles and stained glass windows are various shades of purple along with the flags and banners flying in the breeze.   Black ivy and thick wisteria climb the walls in stark contrast the bright stone, choking out the windows.                

                It's so beautiful that Clara forgets her fears for the moment.  

                The rest of the soldiers divert from the group when the carriage reaches the drive up to the castle.   They continue on towards their barracks.   When the horses pull to a stop at the entrance Clara's too busy staring to notice.   Angelo opens the door and hauls her out.   This time he's trying to act courteous rather than commanding.  Clara knows that's only because of where they are and wrenches her arm out of his grasp. 

                "Shit." whispers the female officer, whose name Clara still hasn't bothered to ask.

                 She's glaring nervously at another coach at the end of the drive.   It is even nicer than the one they arrived in and is silver.   There's a different crest painted on its doors in black.   It features a rearing unicorn. 

                "The Gray Court is already here." 

               

 


	5. Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wants to move closer but her feet are rooted to the spot. His eyes - Clara can't decide if they're green or blue - widened and his lips part slightly. Chemistry. She doesn't have any other way to describe it. Just chemistry which makes her heart beat faster and sends tingles across her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is really, really late. I've been on vacation in New York City!

**~Chemistry~**

 

                Clara is marched into the throne room.   She knows she doesn't look very princess-y.   No shoes, hair un-combed, and wearing a borrowed nightdress, she looks more like a street urchin than anything.   The marble floors are freezing under her feet.  The inside of the palace is beautiful in the way that a museum is beautiful; gilded, cold, and intimidating.   Lovely but untouchable.

                The throne room is the same only with the addition of two really big chairs.   They're ornately carved from dark wood and lined with velvet.  The room is otherwise empty.   Inset columns decorate the long hall disappearing into the vaulted ceiling.   Two story arched stain glass windows throw multicolored patterns of light across the tiled floor.  It's the only thing cheerful looking about the place. 

                A group of men and women stand at the end of the hall.  Their extravagant clothing make their appearance ethereal.   The men in tunics or mail, and the women in long billowing gowns.  When they hear Clara's approach they turn with surprise.  The king and queen are easy to pick out due to their crowns sculpted in silver and amethyst. 

                Clara's escorts bow formally, binding at the waist.  She isn't sure what to do so Clara just bows her head awkwardly.  The king's mouth falls open when he sees her and the queen's eyes narrow slightly before she smiles. 

                "Oswin!" cries the king rushing forward.

                He swoops her into his arms, hugging her forcefully.  Clara feels terrible.  She doesn't want to give the poor man hope only to take it away.  She meets the queen's eyes over his shoulder.  The woman is scrutinizing her carefully, her expression hawk-like.

                The king finally takes in Clara's disheveled appearance.  He turns red glancing around at the other people in the throne room. 

                "Good lord!  You're not decent!  Where are your clothes?  Where have you been?"  he rambles.

                Clara decides this had gone on long enough, "I'm sorry, umm… you're Majesty, but I'm not your daughter.  I tried explaining this to your men.  My name is Clara."

                The man's eyes widen then glazed over.  The king's face goes blank and his shoulders slump slightly.  Clara blinks in surprise.   What's wrong with him?

                "That's nice Oswin." he says with a vapid smile and toneless voice.

                _What the **hell**?_

                "No.  I'm not-"

                "That's enough dear.  Clearly you've been through quite the ordeal."  the queen says, cutting her off.  She dares Clara to challenge her.  "Now, you shouldn't be in public like this.  I'll have the maids sent up to help you look more presentable for our guests."

                _She knows I'm not her daughter_ , Clara thinks.  _She just doesn't want anyone else to know_. 

                Clara finally takes in the other people in the room.  There's a young man in fine gray wool with a proud face and blonde hair.   There are also two other women.  A girl in a fluffy dress, a little younger than Clara.  Actually she looks _a lot_ like Clara herself, same dark eyes, same hair.   Clara's afraid to think about that too hard.   She doesn't want to know what that could mean.

                The other woman has red hair which is the brightest shade of any color Clara's seen in Shades.  She's obviously a solider of some kind.  Delectate chain mail shows under her gray tunic at the neck and arms.  She has a sword, dagger, and several mysterious pouches belted at her waist.   But it's her male counterpart who catches Clara's eyes. 

                He's tall and thin, and dressed exactly the same as the female soldier.   His dark hair flops down over his angular face.   He's good looking, if unusual.   Their eyes meet and Clara feels a bolt of electricity run down her spine.   She shivers and forgets everything else in the room.

                She wants to move closer but her feet are rooted to the spot.   His eyes - Clara can't decide if they're green or blue - widened and his lips part slightly.  _Chemistry._    She doesn't have any other way to describe it.  Just chemistry which makes her heart beat faster and sends tingles across her skin.  

                It's over as soon as it begins.  The queen drags her out of the throne room to a servant waiting to take her upstairs.  Clara can't help glancing back at the handsome solider.  He's still watching her, his expression unreadable.  The other man is staring too, yet Clara hardly notices. 

                The maid takes her up to Princess Oswin's chambers.  They go up three flights of stairs and through several corridors before they reach the right wing.  Clara doubts that she'll be able to find her way back without help.  She keeps thinking about the man.  Clara's never experienced anything like that before.   Sure she's been attracted to people but nothing like _that_.

                Getting home is what she should be focusing on though.   Clara tries to put the butterflies in her stomach out of her mind. 

                Oswin's bedroom is huge.  It has a sitting area with a small fireplace and an antique vanity set.  The bed itself is fantastic.  Large with an ornate frame and sheer canopy.  Clara resists the urge to throw herself onto the plush mattress and sink into the pillows.  Doors led off the main room to a walk-in closet and on-suite bath.  There are even a pair of French doors that open onto a little balcony overlooking the gardens.   Oswin has a pretty nice life. 

                Three maids shuffle into the room.  Identified by their plain pale purple dresses and leggings.  None of them are much older than Clara herself and they break out in huge smiles when they see her.   One girl has even redder hair than the solider downstairs.    

                "Princess you're back!"  cries a girl with fair skin and dark hair.  "The 'ole staff 'as been outta their 'eads with worry!"

                "Oh umm… I'm not her."

                "What'da ya mean, miss?"

                "There's been a mistake.  I'm not Oswin."   Clara's getting tired of explaining this to everyone.   It's kinda sad that no one knows Oswin well enough to see the difference. 

                The ladies glance at each other with concern.  Clara can tell they don’t believe her.  They probably think she's lost her marbles or is under a spell or something.  She sighs internally.  The only way to get through this is to smile and nod. 

                "Well either way miss we need to get you ready for dinner."  says the oldest of the maids.  She's statuesque with a stern mouth.  Clara figures arguing with her is a bad idea.

                Food sounds wonderful since she hadn't eaten all day.  Her current ability to keep down any food at this point is up in the air though.   Especially if she's supposed to eat with Mr. Zombie King and his ice lady.  Yeah that's going to be an awesome meal.

                The girls, whose names turn out to be Jenny, Vastra, and Amy, set to work on her.   Vastra's clearly in charge of the group, giving orders and overseeing everything.  Jenny 's very calm and quiet by comparison.  The red head, Amy, on the other hand, has no attention span what-so-ever.   She's constantly moving and talking, while not getting a lot done.  

                "What on Earth have you been doing?" Amy laments, "Your nails are a wreak."

                Clara doesn't know how to respond.  The whole situation is extremely weird.  The maids don't give her any time for embarrassment.   They practically drown her in the bathtub and scrub her skin raw.   She tries to control her blushing as they buff and polish, and comb her into perfection.   

                Amy dries Clara's hair while relating all the palace gossip she's missed out on.  Clara has no clue who she's talking about but she does notice that a lot of Amy's comments are about a guard named Rory.   What he'd been doing and what he'd said to her lately and how she'd been there to rescue him when he almost fell down the stairs.   Vastra and Jenny exchange knowing smiles behind her back.   Obviously Amy's infatuation is nothing new.

                Clara finds herself smiling too.  Back home she has Nina, but Nina's more interested in football and 'accidentally' setting things on fire than gossiping about boys.   It's kinda nice to do something girly for a change.   Though Clara gets the feeling that these girls could handle themselves pretty well from the way they work. 

                "Oh wow." Clara breathes looking in the mirror. 

                She's always been cute but the girl looking back at her is a supermodel.   Her skin is smooth and soft.  Her hair is artfully pined up leaving a few curled strands hanging to her shoulders.   Her makeup is understated bringing out the darkness of her eyes and the color in her lips.   Clara has never been very concerned about her appearance but right now she's stunned.   These girls are magicians .

                Amy and Jenny laugh at her reaction. 

                "Now you just need a dress." Vastra says disappearing into the closet. 

                "The Prince is going to be there, pick out something fun."

                Vastra doesn't respond.  They can hear her shuffling things around.

                "The Prince?" Clara asks.

                "Prince 'arold of the Gray Court." says Jenny slowly, "Didn't cho see 'em when you came in?"

                Clara gets a brief flash of the proud faced young man in the throne room.  "Oh right."

                Amy smiles, "He's so handsome."

                Clara hadn't really noticed, she'd been too distracted.  "Who was the man with him?  The solider?" 

                "The Gray Knight." says Vastra stepping back into the room.  She's holding a long silk gown. "He travels everywhere with the Prince."

                The girls set to work lacing Clara into the dress.   The delicately beaded bodice hugs her curves and the skirt falls in loose waves to her ankles.   She feels really out of place in something this fancy. 

                "I met him when they first came in.   He's actually really nice unlike most of the knights around here." Amy explains, "His name is John Smith."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prince I'm envisioning as a younger version of John Simm's Master.
> 
> after this chapter the action is really going to pick up because I like adventure stories ;)


	6. Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment the door swing shut behind them the Queen smiles. There was no warmth in it and her eyes remain hard. It's the smile of a cat whose cornered a mouse and is going to enjoy pulling it apart piece by piece. Clara swallows, choking down panic. 
> 
> Don't blink, don’t blink, don't blink. Whatever you do don't blink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be on Wednesday weekly from now on :D

 

 

 

**~Threats~**

 

                Clara's starting to get really nervous.   Her stomach is in knots and her palms are clammy just at the thought of eating dinner with the royal family.   The King's obviously drugged or something and the Queen is - well she didn't actually have an f'ing clue what is up with the Queen.   Clara's pretty sure the woman knows she isn't her daughter.   But why hide that?  Unless, Clara reasons with growing dread, she already knows what happened to Oswin.

                Oh yeah that's a comforting thought.    

                The door across the room feels a million miles away.  All she has to do is walk through it and head downstairs - assuming of course that she can find her way back down there.   She just has to act natural and play along.   Maybe then Clara can figure out what the hell's going on around here.   Or at least a way out of here.   Then she can go back to Jack and Alonso.  

                Clara swallows hard, tears burning in the corners of her eyes.   It's a pointless notion to entertain.  She doesn't even know where Violet City is in relation to the Lost Woods.  The drive took them most of the day and she didn't really pay the closest attention to all the turns they made.  Even if she gets out of this castle, getting back to Jack and Alonso will be next to impossible. 

                _Stop stalling._   Clara tells herself firmly.  Her maids already think she's crazy and standing here staring at the door isn't helping.  _Just suck it up and get this over with._

                Taking a deep breath to steady herself Clara marches across the bedroom.   She's reaching for the doorknob when it turns and the door swings open.   Clara nearly jumps out of her skin.  She's wound so tight that little shock practically gives her a heart attack. 

                That is nothing compared to when she realizes who opened the door.  The Queen with her short brown hair and pinched expression stands before Clara.   Her mouth is so severe it looks as if she's been sucking on a lemon.   As if her constant state is disapproval and distain for everyone.  Her eyes are cold and calculating.   They sweep over Clara's new and improved appearance making her feel like she's being x-rayed. 

                It takes all of Clara's willpower not to shiver or step backwards.   She read somewhere that running or showing fear to a wild animal makes it more likely to attack.   The Queen may not be a grizzly bear, but Clara feels the same rules applied.    Show any weakness and she'll go for the throat. 

                "Leave us." the Queen says sharply to the three girls who are cleaning up. 

                Amy, Jenny, and Vastra leave quickly not wanting to incur any of her wrath.   Vastra, Clara notices, walks more slowly than the others refusing to be pushed from the room.   If only she could proudly saunter out of this situation.  She wants to run after them or beg them to stay.   But Clara isn't a coward and she meets the Queen's icy gaze evenly. 

                The moment the door swing shut behind them the Queen smiles.   There was no warmth in it and her eyes remain hard.   It's the smile of a cat whose cornered a mouse and is going to enjoy pulling it apart piece by piece.  Clara swallows, choking down panic. 

                _Don't blink, don’t blink, don't blink.  Whatever you do don't blink._

                "Now I think we have a few things to discuss." says the Queen. "Namely, who are you?"

                So she does know.   "Clara Oswald, You're Majesty."

                 Keeping things polite is probably the best option.   Maybe if she gets on the woman's good side there's still a way out of this mess.   Clara holds her breath as the Queen circles her taking in every detail.  

                "It's uncanny.   There isn't a single detail missing, you're her spitting image.  How is that possible?"

                The Queen's standing in front of her again.   She squints at Clara trying to solve the puzzle of her existence.   Something Clara doesn't have an answer for.

                "I don't know."

                "Well there's a difference," the woman says coldly, "My daughter is better educated.  You were clearly raised in some backwoods bit of nowhere."

                A spark of anger flares in Clara's chest.   Sure her town maybe in no where's vile, but she isn't some corn-fed simpleton and neither are the rest of her family. 

                "Aww, touched a nerve there did we?"  she laughs. 

                Clara bites back her retort which includes several four letter words.   Instead she says, "If you know I'm not your daughter than why am I still here?"

                "Your insolence is wearing on my nerves, girl."

                She really doesn't fucking care, she's sick of being intimidated by this bitch.   "What do you want with me?"

                The Queen's eyes narrow.  "Because I need a replacement and you just happened to fall into my lap."

                "A replacement?" Clara gasps.  Wow so much for motherly love.  "I'm not going to do that."

                There's that smile again.  "If you value your life you will.   Since my daughter decided to disappear in the middle of the most important peace negotiations in history, you're going to have to take her place.  Or I'll have you executed as an imposter."

                Cold dread runs down Clara's spine.  She fully believes the Queen will do exactly as she promised and won't lose a wink of sleep over it either.   It feels like the walls are closing in around her.   She can feel the invisible chains twisting around her limbs and binding her to this beautiful prison.   Clara doesn't want to die.   She doesn't see a way out of this. 

                The Queen can see the defeat in her eyes.  "That's a good girl."

***

                "Queen Viola Kovarian and Princess Oswin Kovarian." announces the short man in a vest standing beside the doors to the dining hall.

                It's a little redundant since presumably everyone inside already knows their names.  Stepping through the large wooden doorway, Clara isn't sure if she's expecting Great Hall of Hogwarts or what.  There are no sky ceilings or floating candles, but it's certainly no ordinary room.  Purple silks hang from the ceiling swaying in a nonexistent breeze.   And the long dark table sparkles with gold and cut-crystal dinnerware.  However, the opulence of the polished floors and vaulted windows are not what makes the room unusual.

                The black vine wisteria Clara saw outside grows along the stone walls and around the windows.  The petals of the flowers glow softly casting the room in a warm light paired with the hanging torches.  The plants can't possibly be real - there's nowhere for them to be growing from - yet they look very much alive.

                The men at the table rise to their feet as Clara and the Queen walk in.   They take the two empty seats beside the King.  The only other people there are Prince Harold, who Clara ends up sitting across from, and the girl she saw earlier.  That and the half dozen servants lining the room, which bothers her.  She doesn't deserve to have people waiting on her, nor does she need it. 

                "Are you feeling better, sister?"

                Oh that's not awkward at all.  Clara was afraid of this, because no matter what she wanted to believe the girl looks way too much like her to be anyone other than Oswin's sister.  Her only consolation is that the girl probably isn't allowed to ask where Clara's been in front of Harold.  That gives Clara some time to think of a response to those future questions.

                "Much, thank you." Clara says trying to sound proper.  She sounds like an idiot to her own ears, but no one says anything at least.

                A strange expression flickers over the girl's face.  Any further discussion is diverted by the arrival of their meal.   Clara wonders what the girl, whose name she's going to have to figure out eventually, is thinking.  Can she tell that there's something off?  Hopefully, because it would be sad if she couldn't.  Clara looks down at her plate wishing she could disappear.  This is so wrong.

                There is strangely no meat among the dishes placed before them.  Clara doesn't mind she just thinks it odd for royalty.  Pretty soon she's going to have to stop thinking things are odd or she'll go mad.  Everything about her life right now is fucking bizarre.   Pushing it all from her mind, Clara focuses on eating.  She's starving and it's a simple mundane task she can deal with.

                "I'm glad you've returned safely, Princess." says Prince Harold suddenly with a shy smile.

                Clara sets down her fork unable to help smiling back.  For the first time she really looks at the man.  From his fitted tunic, cropped blonde hair, and intelligent eyes, she has to admit Amy's right.  He is handsome.  Though Clara finds herself unconsciously comparing him to John Smith. 

                The Knight is attractive in an entirely different way and while Harold's smile is flattering it doesn't make her heart flutter in her chest.   Not that Clara has any business having fluttering feelings over anyone.  This is _so_ not the time.  It's just one more thing to bury. 

                "Thank you." she murmurs.

                "And it's so fortunate since the Harvest Ball is tomorrow." says Queen Viola smugly.

                "The Harvest Ball?" Clara asks.

                "Yes darling the masquerade." Viola says pointedly, warning her to stop asking questions she's supposed to already know the answer to.

                "You and Lavender have always loved the Harvest Ball." The King speaks for the first time.  His voice is still monotone and there's no light in his eyes, like a sleepwalker.   Does no one else find this weird?  "When you were little you would stay up the whole night before." he continues.

                Clara glances over at her "sister" who must be Lavender.   It's a better name than Oswin at any rate except for the whole purple theme.  Lavender doesn't look happy, her brows furrow as she stares at her father.  

                "Yes we remember." she says.

                "Of course this will be the most exciting Ball we've had." grins Viola at the Prince, who flushes slightly.  "We will finally be able to make the official announcement of your betrothal to Oswin."

                By some miracle Clara doesn't choke on her mulled wine.

                 "What?" she coughs, carefully setting down her goblet.

                She must have misheard the Queen, there's no way she just said that.  No way she's expecting Clara to marry some stranger just so she can keep up appearances.  Because that sure as hell is not happening.  No freaking way!  Clara doesn't care what Viola threatens her with she isn’t going through with that!

                Harold turns to her in surprise.  "Did you think the agreement had been thrown out in your absence?  You don't have to worry the arrangement still stands." He assures her as if that’s what she wants to hear.

                "Yes I was concerned about that.  This is wonderful news." Clara hears herself say when she opens her mouth to object.  

                _What the **fuck?**_  

                She can't even freak-out, just smile lovingly at the Prince.  Clara wants to scream.  She has no control over what she's doing.  Someone else is making her mouth move. 

                Harold's shy grin morphs into more of a smirk which she doesn't like.  She doesn’t want him to think of her that way.   Much less does Clara want Harold to think she thinks of him that way.   She literally just met the man.  

                The grip over Clara fades giving her back control over her own mouth.  She immediately stops smiling trying not to jump to her feet and start running.  Meeting the Queen's smug gaze Clara's positive she's the one doing this.  No doubt that is what's wrong with the King as well.  What else can Viola make her do?  How can she get away from someone who can control her like that?

                If Oswin ran away Clara wouldn't blame her one bit.  Her family is insane.

                The rest of dinner passes without incident though Clara loses any appetite she had.  Realizing you're powerless against a force you don’t understand will do that to a person.  She hates feeling helpless, but without any other options Clara can only keep playing along.

                Amy, Jenny, and Vastra are waiting for her when she gets back to Oswin's room.  _Her room_ now.  As nice as the girls are she really wants to be left alone.  That way she can go to pieces by herself.    They see Clara's distracted and help her out of the dress before bidding her goodnight.  

                "Thank you." Clara whispers as they left.  She means it; they're the only people who've been kind to her since she got to Violet City.   Maybe under different circumstances they could even be friends. 

                Amy places a hand on her shoulder then slips out without a word.  

                Clara sighs, a tear falling down her cheek.   Needing air she opens the French doors to the balcony.   The cool evening breeze chills her skin under her thin dressing gown.   Leaning against the carved stone railing Clara stares up at the moon.  It looks the same as she's always remembered it.   Is it the same moon she's knew as a child or merely an echo?   She doesn’t know.

                Movement in the courtyard below catches her attention.   It's the Gray Knight, John Smith.  He holds a long stick in both hands and is moving between fighting poses.   Clara recognizes it as some form of martial arts.   He wears no shirt, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight.   The shiver runs through her again as she watches him.   Sensing her gaze John looks up and their eyes meet. 

                Clara turns and runs back inside her heart pounding.

  
  


	7. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several couples stand just outside talking and drinking. The night breeze is refreshing and helps calm her nerves. They wander down one of the gravel paths without speaking. Clara isn't sure where this is going, but she isn't compelled to leave. There is something strangely magnetic about John.

**~Cold~**

 

                The palace is in a fervor in preparation for the Harvest Ball.  They probably have been for weeks considering the amount of decorations which go up overnight.  Pumpkins, gourds, wreathes, and blank candles cover nearly every surface.  The whole building smells of apples and cinnamon.  Servants rush back and forth carrying garlands and bouquets of black flowers. 

                "Are you even listening?" a voice breaks into Clara's inner musings.

                "No."

                Vastra sighs exasperated and sets aside her folders.  "The Queen wants me to go over this with you."

                Clara glares at the pile of papers.  For the past three hours Vastra's been teaching her the names and occupations of every member of each royal family.   It's exhausting and she's already forgotten half of them.

                Vastra frowns thinking things over.  "Clara." She sighs finally.

                Clara glances up at the use of her real name.  The woman is watching her sadly with understanding her eyes.   Vastra is wasted as a maid.  She can see right through to the heart of things.  Under Vastra's scrutiny Clara feels like a puzzle being solved.

                "I'm sorry for not believing you before.  It's becoming increasingly obvious that you are not - or at least are not currently - Oswin.  Your mannerisms, expressions, and ways of speech are all different.  Not to mention the fact that this is all information you should have learned when you were three."

                Clara blinks at her for a moment.  A slightly hysterical giggle escapes her mouth before she can stop it.  Its either relief or burgeoning madness and she isn't positive which.  Clara's tempted to start crying but that would be ridiculous.  Having someone actually believe her makes Clara feel as if a lead weight has been lifted from her chest.  Just the idea that someone understands her situation is a powerful thing.

                "The Queen won't let me leave."

                "I figured as much." says Vastra, "She's very concerned with reputation and if word got out that the Crown Princess ran away rather than be married off Viola wouldn’t know what to do."

                "So that’s what happened?  She ran away?"

                "I think so.  I know she hated Prince Harold, though I'm not sure why.  She refused to go through with the wedding.  Oswin would never talk about it but I'm positive that the Queen made her unable to eat until she changed her mind."

                "I would run away too." Clara says in horror.  She is going to run.  The moment she sees an opportunity she's going to run and never look back.  Clara phrases her next question carefully unsure how much Vastra knows.  "How does the Queen _influence_ people?"

                Vastra snorts, "You mean, how does she turn them into her dancing puppets?"

                "Yeah.  How can anyone do that?"

                "She's a witch."

                "A witch?  Like with a broomstick and a cauldron and stuff?"  Clara asks.   Of course she would manage to piss off a witch.  That is just Clara's luck.   Because pissing off a crazy queen isn't bad enough, she just has to also be a witch.  Right.

                "Cauldrons maybe, I'm not so sure about broomsticks." Vastra says.  "Viola left the Order to marry King

                "The Order?"

                "Order and Chaos.   I guess you wouldn’t know about that would you."  Vastra says, "Ok I'll give you the brief overview.  Shades, as you may have guessed, is divided into two kingdoms - Gray and Violet - separated by the Lost Woods.  In each kingdom there is a coven of the most powerful witches.  Not just your average potion maker, but people with who can weld serious damage.  The covens are completely autonomous to the governments though they often work closely with the courts.  Leaving either coven is a big deal especially to marry into a royal family."

                Clara thinks this over.  It helps give some context.  Knowledge is always the best weapon and currently she's at a distinct disadvantage.  But she doesn’t have to be.  Clara grins in determination making Vastra raise a delicate eyebrow.

                "I need you to teach me everything you know about this place."

                She is going to beat the Queen at her own game.

                Vastra's eyes glitter mischievously, "Let's get started." 

***

                Clara studies maps and dates and names.  She's determined to memorize everything; the littlest scrap of information could be what gets her out of this.  Vastra, Jenny, and Amy spend the whole afternoon teaching her everything they know.  Between learning geography, history, and politics, they teach her etiquette.

                She knew vaguely that there were rules about knifes and which fork to eat with.  It turns out to be exceedingly more complex than she guessed.  Honestly in her opinion all the niceties served only to make it easier to offend people.   Despite her disbelief that it could ever matter which hand you hold a soup spoon with, Clara takes it all in.  She's not going to give Viola any reason to come after her.

                The girls also teach her how to dance.  Jenny brings in a tiny music box which plays a simple waltz and sets it on the vanity.  Amy places her hand on Clara's waist and shows her where to step.  She's terrible at first but soon gets the hang of it.  After switching out the tumbler in the music box, Vastra and Jenny step in to help with the group dances.

                They weave in and out trying not to step on each other's feet.  It doesn't work.  They end up a tangled laughing mess.  Clara's actually having fun and it surprises her.  As they right themselves she notices the way Vastra and Jenny's fingers linger on each other and their small smiles.  She bites back her own grin because there's certainly something going on there.

                That makes her think of something else.  "So Amy is Rory going to be at this Ball tonight?"  Clara says watching Amy turn red.

                "He'll be stationed at the entrance."

                "That’s too bad," Clara teases, "You could show him your moves."

                "I won't be at the Ball either." Says Amy sadly.

                "What, why not?  Don't you want to go?"

                "The only servants allowed in will be the servers and a few guards." explains Vastra.

                Well that's crap!  Hanging out with them was the only way this would have been enjoyable.  That’s out the window.  It's not fair, from the look on Amy's face she clearly wants to go.  Why should they be prevented from having any fun?  What made the blue bloods any better?  She doesn't let her annoyance show on her face.  She doesn't want Amy to feel any worse since she's already put her foot in her mouth.

                "Well at least that means you don’t have to hang with Her Majesty the Head Case."

                With two hours until the ball Clara's maids leave to get her costume.  They said it took them three weeks to complete it.  Clara wonders why they even bothered with Oswin missing.  At least this way their hard work isn't wasted even if it wasn't meant for her.

                Clara is floored when she sees the thing.  It's all black sequence and sheer fabric.  It also looks really tight.  Thank god Clara and Oswin have the same measurement because the dress is a second skin.  The top is covered in black sequence with a plunging neckline.   The dress itself only goes down to mid-thigh.  A sheer cobweb-like skirt falls from the waist to her ankles paired with a web shaped collar to make Clara look like a spider goddess.  It's accented by black satin armbands and dark crystal jewelry.

                Amy rolls up her hair into waves which remind Clara of pictures she's seen of the 1940s.  Oswin's silver tiara is placed on her head and it's heaver than she expected.  Jenny paints her lips blood red while Vastra ties on her dark spider web mask.  Glancing in the mirror Clara can hardly recognize herself.

                "You guys are amazing." she says.  She can't believe they did all this.  "It's incredible."

                "No one is going to top this." Amy agrees with a smirk.

                "'choo better get goin'." Jenny says shooing her towards the door.  "You're gonna be late."

***

                Clara feels like she's shaken hands with everyone on the planet.  The first half-hour of the Harvest Ball is nothing but introductions.  She stands with the rest of the royal family to greet the guests as they arrive.  Lavender is her exact opposite as a butterfly.  Her dress is demur and as close to pastel colored as anything can be in Shades.   For whatever reason it makes Clara think of catholic saints.  Viola is a rose garden in a costume that's actually made up of thousands of tiny fabric roses.  They range through every shade of pink growing darker as they go down. 

                The king is appropriately a jester.

                The ballroom is huge.  An orchestra on a raised platform plays on one end and on the other doors lead out into the palace courtyard.  It's autumn, day of the dead, and old Hollywood all at once.  Black tapers drip onto candelabras.  Twisted dark trees rest in the corners filled with sparkling lights.  Spiders and bats and skeletons hang around the room set against sequence and silk.  Everything glitters and shines.

                Clara is forced to smile and dance with a series of business men and politicians.  They're often twice or even triple her age.   She tries to make small talk but they mostly end up staring in opposite directions awkwardly.   Without the girls' dance lesson it would have been a disaster.   At least she doesn't have to lead though she would prefer not having strangers put their hands on her.   Most of the men are nice enough but a few find their eyes drawn to Clara's low neckline.  She has a tendency to 'accidently' step on those men's feet.

                "Might I have this dance?" asks a voice she doesn’t know. 

                Clara spins around and it's him.  John Smith, dressed as some kind of highway vagabond, is standing there smiling shyly.  She feels her cheeks flush but suppresses any other emotions.   She's never been one of those girls who swoons over the hot guys in high school.   Her reaction to the man yesterday makes Clara feel like an idiot.   She almost wants to tell him to go away, but she doesn't.

                "Alright." She says.

                John's smile widens lighting up the room.   The orchestra starts in on a slow waltz as he takes her hand.  Clara feels warmth spreading across her skin where he places his palm on her waist.   John's an even worse dancing than she is.   Ungainly and awkward, but endearing.  Clara wonders how he manages as a Knight with two left feet.

                "Are you enjoying the party?" Clara asks.  What a stupid thing to ask.  It's as bad as talking about the weather. 

                "Yes." He nods, ears turning red. 

                She wonders why that would make him blush.  His eyes shift between green and blue in the candle light.  They appear too old for his young face, as if they've seen too much.   A twinge of sadness curls in her belly.   Unconsciously Clara leans closer to John.   His eyes flicker to her lips. 

                "It's nice to finally meet you, You're Highness." John says.  He really does look happy but also nervous.  Though maybe that's part of his personality. 

                "Clara." she corrects without thinking. 

                John blinks, "Clara?"

                Realizing her mistake too late, Clara bites her lip.  Freezing in place she still has her hand on his shoulder.  Shit she just blew everything!  If word gets back to the Queen she's screwed.   John watches her panic with growing concern on his face. 

                "Please don't tell anyone I said that." Clara whispers glancing around.  The fact that they've stopped dancing is starting to attract attention. 

                "I promise." he says.   It looks like he really means it.  He also sees the eyes in their direction, "Why don't we step outside?" 

                Clara tries her best to act natural as she follows him through the open doors.   Several couples stand just outside talking and drinking.   The night breeze is refreshing and helps calm her nerves.   They wander down one of the gravel paths without speaking.   Clara isn't sure where this is going, but she isn't compelled to leave.  There is something strangely magnetic about John. 

                They come across a circular clearing with a stone bench.  John sits down, gives her a crooked smile inviting her to sit too.  That smile makes her heart do funny things which her head doesn't like.   Yet she still sits down. 

                "You wanna tell me about it?"

                Clara frowns, "Why should I tell you anything?"

                "I don't know," he shrugs, "I'm good listener.  Plus it doesn't take a genius to see that something's on your mind."   

                She doesn't say anything for a long time then it all just comes tumbling out.  Clara can't stop talking.   She tells John everything from Broken Bridge to the Queen's threats.   He sits there just watching her while she gets it all out.   Finally Clara stops and waits for John to say something.  To call her crazy and leave or get the Queen.  

                Instead he says, "They have brighter colors where you come from?"

                Clara's mouth falls open.  "That's your takeaway? Brighter colors?"

                "Yeah…" he raises an eyebrow.  "You thought I wouldn't believe you."

                "You have no reason too."

                John says, "I have no reason not to.  When you've spent as much time as I have in the outer districts strange starts to sound normal."

                Clara finds herself leaning towards him again.  "Thank you."

                The corner of his mouth pulls up in the ghost of a smile.  "I didn't do anything.  You should talk to the Oracle, she might know something."

                "Who?" Clara breaths. 

                "The Oracle.  She can see the future."  John mutters. 

                His eyes drop to her lips again.   Clara's breath hitches in her chest.  Her heart flutters as he leans forward.  John is so close she can feel the heat of his skin.  It's blistering in the autumn chill.   Clara closes her eyes.   There's a chime of a clock. 

                "There're about to announce your betrothal." John says and then he's gone.   Leaving Clara sitting on the stone bench in the now bitter cold. 


	8. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Clara knows there's something off about Harold. Maybe it’s the way his eyes linger where they shouldn't or that smile which is almost a smirk. Maybe it’s a lot of things and maybe it's all in her head. But the bottom line is Clara doesn't trust him.

**~Breathe~**

 

                It takes Clara a minute to pull herself back together.  Had she just imagined that John was leaning in to kiss her?  It's been a hell of a long time since she's had a romantic liaison of any kind.  Did she misread the situation?  Is that why he left?  He realized what Clara was thinking and didn't want it?

                Clara gets to her feet, shoving away the hurt and embarrassment which threatens to overwhelm her.   It's a dull ache in her chest.   It feels like she's been punched in the gut, but she has to go back inside and pretend to be happy.  And happy is the furthest from what she's feeling right now.   Putting on her best poker face Clara slips back into the ballroom. 

                As she steps through the open doors Clara can't help glancing around.   She doesn't see John.   Did he leave?   She hopes so, because she doesn't want to see him again.  She doesn't even want to think about him.   Prince Harold is waiting for her along with the eyes of everyone at the ball.  It suddenly gets hard to breathe.   He is dressed as a Knight. 

                "It's time, my dear." Harold glances over Clara's shoulder towards the courtyard.  Guilt creeps into her emotions even though there's no reason for it.   The man is engaged to Oswin not her.   Not that anything happened in the courtyard anyway.   A blush colors the back of her neck before Harold takes her arm.

                Clara forces a small smile.  It probably looks fake. 

                The crowd of opulently dressed dancers makes way for them.   They watch expectantly as Harold leads her to the platform where the rest of the family is waiting.  King Toby and Queen Viola are beaming.  They look like this is the greatest day of their lives.  They look so happy for her.  Lavender, on the other hand, her smile is as fake as Clara's.  Her eyes are cold and distant. 

                The King steps forward and the crowd goes silent.   "Here on this most joyous of holidays I bring to you even more glad tidings!  A royal union between my daughter Princess Oswin Kovarian of the Violet Kingdom and Prince Harold Saxon of the Gray Court!" 

                The ballroom erupts into cheers and applause.  It sounds like a death march.   Grinning to the crowd, Harold wraps his arm around her waist pulling her closer.  Instinctively, she steps away.  Or tries to.  He tightens his grip holding her in place.   Resisting the urge to stamp on his foot - no one is allowed to manhandle her - Clara keeps smiling. 

                "Now our two kingdoms will be joined in an era of peace and prosperity." Harold says in a ringing voice making the crowd cheer harder.   

                Clara goes ridged when he leans forward to press his lips to hers.  Revulsion curls her stomach though the kiss itself is not wholly unpleasant.  She knows this is all for show.  She can feel Viola judging her reaction and, as hard as it is to do, Clara relaxes into the kiss.  It goes against everything in her to lean forward, but she does.   Clara can feel his surprise.   

                The kiss is over almost as soon as it begun.  It feels like eternity.

                When Harold pulls back his smile is slightly smug.  "That was different." he says so only Clara can hear. 

                She doesn't know how to respond.  What does that mean?  Did he kiss Oswin before?  Is that why she hated him?  Movement on the other end of the hall catches her eye.   Someone dressed as a vagabond walks out of the ballroom.  A sharp pain blooms behind her sternum.   It finds home with the dull ache currently weighing down her heart. 

                Clara forces her attention back to the Prince.  He's watching her closely and she wonders if he knows where her eyes just went.  If he does he doesn't say anything.  Finally removing his grip on her, Harold steps back.   The weight of his hand lingers.  It feels like a bruise against her skin.

                The orchestra strikes up a waltz and the crowd parts before them.  Rattled, Clara forgets what's supposed to happen next.  Why is he pulling her forward?  Why are people clearing the center of the floor?

                "My lady?" Harold says, bowing low at the waist. 

                _Curtsy!  You're supposed to curtsy_! Screams the functional part of her brain.  _Curtsy?  Oh right…_ holding out her sheer skirt Clara gives it her best effort.  Vastra would probably be disappointed but at least she doesn't fall on her face.  This is the engagement waltz.  They have to lead the dance just like the king and queen on prom night.  It's such an incongruous image Clara almost laughs. 

                Harold leads her out to the center of the ballroom.  She can feel the eager eyes tracing her movements.   Everyone here expects something of Oswin.  And she's not her.  Clara needs to smile, to look happy.  She can't blow this by letting people see the way her skin crawls when Harold touches her.  So she does. 

                He leads her into the steps, rotating them in time with the slow music.  Submitting dominance is difficult, but she swallows it down and keeps smiling.  No one can say she's not keeping up her end of the bargain.   

                "You look beautiful tonight."  He whispers in her ear and it sounds genuine.

                "Thank you." Clara mumbles.  

                What else can she say?  Harold hasn't really given her any reason to dislike him.  The kiss was for show.  It was expected.   He seems nice even, but she knows not to ignore her instincts.  That’s what got her stuck in Shades in the first place.  She knew something was wrong at Broken Bridge and she jumped anyway. 

                 Just as Clara knows there's something off about Harold.   Maybe it’s the way his eyes linger where they shouldn't or that smile which is almost a smirk.   Maybe it’s a lot of things and maybe it's all in her head.   But the bottom line is Clara doesn't trust him. 

                They make it through the dance and Clara is finally able to get away from him.   Excusing herself for a drink she sneaks away.   Moving along the edges of the room Clara avoids Harold and the rest of the royals for the rest of the evening.   Thankfully the party is nearly over so she doesn't have to dodge for long. 

                As midnight approaches marking the day where the land of the spirits is perfectly aligned with their own the room begins to countdown.    

                "Ten!"

                Clara edges towards the door.  This is the perfect distraction.

                "Nine!"

                She glances around to see if anyone will notice her escape.  She just wants out of here.

                "Eight!"

                Clara slips out of the ballroom and rushes to the stairs before anyone can stop her.

                "Seven!" 

                The intoxicated voices fade as she follows the path the girls taught her to get back to Oswin's bedroom.   Now Clara can breathe.   No one is watching her.  No one is making her be someone else.    She sighs, stopping at an arched stone window and pulling of her mask.

                The full moon pours light in pooling on the floor around her feet.   Closing her eyes Clara tries to let go of the weight in her chest.    The rejection, the uncertainty, she wants to wish it all away.  Sadly life doesn't work like that.    

                "What are you doing up here?" John's voice asks.

                Her breathe hitches in shock and something else.   Opening her eyes, Clara doesn't turn around.  She doesn't want to see him.    Embarrassment and anger twist her gut.  

                "What do you want?" she counters. 

                "I-" John pauses, voice strained.   "I saw you and I thought I should -"

                "What?" Clara bites, "Make sure I'm alright?  I can take care of myself, thanks."

                "That's not- I mean-.  I was worried."

                That strikes a nerve.   Clara whips around to face him.  Her mask falls to the floor.  He's standing just inside the pool of light from the window, his face half in shadow.  It makes him look older, darker somehow.   But she can see the discomfort - and is that remorse - on his features.    It makes her retort die on her tongue. 

                "You left the ball." Clara says lamely.   

                John meets her gaze.  There's an intensity in his expression she doesn't expect.  Ignoring her implied question he says, "Why am I here?"  

                 It's a question more to himself than Clara.  She doesn't fully understand it.  Electric tingles race across her skin when he takes a step closer.   That's something she does understand.  _Want._   Clara wants John to kiss her, to hold her, anything more than this. 

                "Why did you leave?"  she asks.  

                They are even closer now, merely inches apart.  Standing in the spotlight of the moon.   Nothing outside of it exists.   It's only them and the moonlight.  

                "I'm a soldier, a servant." John says so softly she can barely hear it.  "There are things I can't have."

                "That's stupid." Clara says bluntly.

                He laughs breathlessly.   And it breaks the barriers.  John closes the distance between them hungrily.  His calloused hands cradle her face as he seals Clara's mouth with his.  A wild desire stirs inside her when she presses back, arms lifting up to wrap around his neck.  

                It's better than anything she could have imagined.  John tastes like honey and cinnamon.  Like storms and the sea.  The soft sound he makes when she runs her tongue over his bottom lip burns through her.   Fingers trail down her spine and tug her closer.   Clara responds in kind.  She wants _more_.  She wants all of John.  More than she's ever wanted anyone.  

                He is soft, pliant, and willing; tongue licking deep into her mouth.   They breathe into each other, bodies molded together.   Hands eager and uncertain and desperate to explore.   Clara traces the shape of his jaw with her fingertips as if committing it to memory.   Slowly they break apart breathing heavy. Lips swollen and pink, faces flush.    

                John smiles at her, pupils wide.  "I'm sorry." he says.

                "For what?" 

                He presses another kiss to her lips softly.  A small discontented whine escapes Clara when he pulls away again.  John chuckles, placing his hands against her cheeks gently. 

                "For not doing that earlier."       

               


	9. Bad Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John stops in front of a door with the head of a wolf painted on it. Clara shivers remembering the nightmares in the Lost Woods. He knocks four sharp raps and the door opens. Rusted hinges screech. There's no one on the other side. 
> 
> "And now it's a Scooby-do episode." Clara mumbles liking this less and less every second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late guys!!

**~Bad Wolf~**

 

                The sun rose streaming warm light into Oswin's bedroom.   Soft rays fell across the bed where Clara lays curled in a ball.   She rolls over grinning into her pillow when the memory of last night resurfaces.   It almost seems like a dream.    She presses her fingertips to her lips imagining she can still feel John. 

                Clara knows getting involved with anyone is a terrible idea.  She's trying to go home and once she does Clara will never see John again.  The very thought hurts.  This is all happening way too fast, yet all Clara can think about is kissing him again. 

                Last night John walked her to the end of the hall where Oswin's bedroom is located.  He didn't dare go any farther in case someone saw them.  If anyone found out the consequences would be severe to say the least.  John is sworn to serve the Gray Court and stealing the Gray Prince's fiancée could get him killed.  They're playing a dangerous game, one wrong move and everything will fall apart. 

                John promised to take Clara to see the oracle today.   She resides in her own section of the castle cut off from the rest.  People avoid her if at all possible; the idea of knowing the future scares them.  Clara can't say she disagrees.  But John said he met her a few times when she travels between the kingdoms and she's someone to trust.  Like the witches, the oracle lives outside the governments.  She can move freely.  The fact that she chooses to reside in the Violet Kingdom has always been a point of contention. 

                Clara slips out from under the covers and heads towards the bathroom.  She convinced the girls that she doesn't need help getting ready in the morning.  Having them wait on her is ridiculous.  Clara isn't any better than them.  Also she's not an invalid. 

                She takes her time getting dressed.  Washing her face and combing her hair.  And telling herself this isn't because she's going to see John again.  He has nothing to do with it.  It takes several minutes of searching the closet full of more chiffon and silk than New York fashion week to find something that could even be considered casual. 

                It's a simple tunic style dress in deep burgundy.  It comes with a pair of dark legging that have little brass buttons running up the side.  Clara slips it on hoping the outfit won't get her in trouble.  It was in the closet so…

                Anxiety is building in her chest making Clara feel like a teenager on her first date all over again.  Blasted hormones.  They make Clara's mind go all sorts of places it shouldn't.  She wants more than to kiss John.  She wants to hear him whisper her name in the dark; she wants to know the feel of him.  And it's more than that.  Clara wants him in a way she's never experienced before.  She wants to wake up next to him, to hear about his day, to curl up on the couch and watch a movie - or whatever it is they do here. 

                Clara bites her lip.  It's an alarming revelation.  She shouldn't get attached, she should avoid John completely.  But Clara doesn't think she can.  She's standing at a precipice and no matter what direction she takes Clara is going to fall.  It's only a question of how hard. 

                John is waiting for her at the stone bench in the courtyard.  It's a safe neutral location, there's nothing suspicions about going to the gardens.  He jumps to his feet when he sees her ears turning red.  She smiles and checks to see if anyone is nearby.  Their section of the garden is empty and secluded by trees and hedges.   Clara can feel the tension leave her body when she steps closer to John.

                "Hey." she says simply.   She doesn't know what else to say, words aren't enough to convey what Clara's thinking.  It sounds silly and she knows it.

                He chuckles, giving a crooked smile, "Hey."

                Hesitantly Clara stands on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.  This is the exact opposite of avoiding attachment, but she can't find it in herself to care at the moment.  Especially when John is kissing her back, arms encircling her waist.  It's gentle and sweet, and Clara melts into it.  It's also far too short.  She leans back leaving her palms resting against his chest.

                "I'd be a much better morning person if that's how I was normally greeted." John smiles.  "Usually I wake up to Donna yelling."

                Clara feels an unexpected twinge of jealousy.  "Donna?" she asks hoping to sound nonchalant.

                "Oh that's right you haven't met Donna." he says enthusiastically.  "She's my partner, the other Gray Knight.  Just like how Ten and Mickey are here."

                Clara remembers the red-head she saw when she first arrived, that must be Donna since she was wearing the same uniform.   Clara is momentarily distracted by something else John says, "Wait, someone's _name_ is Ten?"

                "His actual name is David, but he's the tenth Violet Knight named David so everyone just calls him Ten."

                "Okay..."

                John continues, "I have to introduce you to Donna.  She'll like you, I know."

                The way he's speaking sooths some of her jealousy.  John talks about Donna the way one does a sister or a best friend. 

                "Sounds like a plan." She agrees.

                John just kind of stares at her for a moment which makes Clara lightheaded.  Seeming to comeback to himself, he takes one of her hands in his own.  Their fingers intertwine as if they were made for each other.  Clara is starting to feel like she's fallen into some fluffy romance novel.  No way this is real life.  L - No she isn't going to call it that - _anything_ at first sight just doesn't happen.  Not really. 

                "Rose is expecting us." he says leading out of the courtyard.  "She's really interested in meeting you."

                "The oracle has a name?"

                John glances over at her with a raised eyebrow.  "Why wouldn't she have a name?"

                "How should I know?" Clara mutters, flushing slightly.  "We don't exactly have oracles where I come from."

                "Her name is Rose Tyler and … well I'll let her explain the rest."

                Clara follows John through the corridors constantly looking over her shoulder to see if they are being watched.  They pass a few servants and keep what they hope looks like a normal distance between them.  Eventually they reach a wing that is completely disserted.  It doesn't even look like it gets cleaned much.  A light coating of dust rests on every surface. 

                John stops in front of a door with the head of a wolf painted on it.  Clara shivers remembering the nightmares in the Lost Woods.  He knocks four sharp raps and the door opens.   Rusted hinges screech.  There's no one on the other side. 

                "And now it's a Scooby-do episode." Clara mumbles liking this less and less every second.

                "What?"

                "Nothing."

                "Don't worry it's fine." John says taking her hand again.

                Inside is the strange mixture of somebody's attic and a botanical garden.   Plush chairs, glass lamps, and flowers are literally everywhere.   The room is set up similar to an apartment with separate spaces for the living area, bedroom, bath, and tiny kitchenette.    The place was obviously designed so Rose wouldn't have to leave it much. 

                The whole back wall of the living room is comprised of thick paned windows.   A door opens up to a lush brick walled garden.   It gives the illusion of one continuous space.   There's also absolutely nothing threatening about the place.  

                "Clara!" calls a female voice from the garden.  "Please come in."

                Winding her way through the furniture and flowers Clara spots a young woman.   She's sitting beside a well with a table set out for tea.   She has a wide smiling mouth, large expressive eyes, and honey colored hair.   Dressed in a long, cream, empire waist shift with a gold circlet, inset with what appears to be moonstones, resting on her head the girl makes a beautiful - if surreal picture. 

                "You must be Rose?" Clara says taking the seat she offers. 

                "And you're the impossible girl." Rose nods, "I saw you coming."

                Clara glances at John whose busy pouring the tea.  "You did?"

                "Yes.  I'm sorry I wasn't there when you arrived.  I had no idea when you'd be coming, just that you would. " she frowns, "Time gets a bit confusing sometimes."

                Clara nods and takes a sip of the tea John hands her, because she doesn't know what else to do.   Rose is very friendly, but she still doesn't know what's going on yet.  

                "Do you know how to get her home?" John asks. 

                "Not yet." Rose hedges, "It hasn't told me that."

                "It?"

                "The spirit of time: the Bad Wolf.   I'm its vessel, just as my mother was before me and her mother before her.   It may not be the best gig in the universe, but what are you going to do?" 

                Rose finishes her tea than gets to her feet.  She leans against the wishing well, peering down into its depths.  Clara thinks she looks tired and in more than just the physical since.  How much has this gift cost her?  Rose is alone and cut off from the world and by the sounds of it she had no choice it the matter. 

                Its something she can understand.

                Rose looks up at Clara, "I can't promise anything, but we can try asking it."

                "Alright."  She gets up to stand beside Rose on instinct. 

                Rose closes her eyes and breathes in and out slowly.   Clara and John don't move afraid of distracting her from whatever it is she's doing.   The air starts to get warmer, thicker.   Clara takes a step back towards John. 

                Rose opens her eyes and they are no longer her own.  Yellow, bright like the sun, and glowing with power.    The woman's face is blank and expressionless.  

                "I am the Bad Wolf."

 


	10. Tick Tock Goes The Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Clara can even react to the freakish nursery rhyme the Bad Wolf reaches foreword. Rose's finger presses her temple. A shock courses through her veins. It is wild fire racing through a forest. And then Clara is falling, falling all over again.

 

**~Tick Tock Goes The Clock~**

 

                Clara stumbles away from the being wearing Rose's face.  The air around them is electrified.  It is hard to draw breath.  Clara falls back against John's chest.  She can feel his hands holding her steady, warm on her shoulders.  Clara doesn't want to admit she's terrified but glowing eyes are really fucking alarming.

                "I am the Bad Wolf." Intones a layered voice.  It sounds as through a thousand people are speaking at once.  The words vibrate in the air.

                Clara swallows her fear and forces her voice not to shake.  "My name is Clara Oswald.  Do you know who I am?"

                The golden eyes regard her for a moment.  "The Impossible Girl."  The Bad Wolf smiles with Rose's mouth, sardonic and baiting.  It doesn't fit her face.

                "Why am I the Impossible Girl?"  Clara steps out of John's arms.  She is no damsel in distress.  "Do you know how I got here?"

                "I see everything.  I know everything."

                Clara takes that as a 'yes'.  Of course it also isn't an answer.  The Bad Wolf is toying with her.  She can't let it distract her because Clara may never get another shot at this.  And this is only adding more questions.   Is she impossible for being in Shades or because she looks like Oswin?  Clara won't leave until she gets answers.

                "Why am I Impossible?" she repeats.

                The Bad Wolf steps closer.  Tears are running down Rose's cheeks.  The woman's body is trembling.  This is hurting her.  The glowing heat is searing against Clara's skin.  She holds her ground, frozen.

_"Tick Tock_

_Goes the clock_

_Two lives_

_And one face_

_Tick tock_

_Goes the clock_

_The book_

_Has truly raised_

_Tick tock_

_Goes the clock_

_The blood_

_Is all lies_

_Tick tock_

_Goes the clock_

_Your love_

_Shall surely die"_

                Before Clara can even react to the freakish nursery rhyme the Bad Wolf reaches foreword.   Rose's finger presses her temple.  A shock courses through her veins.  It is wild fire racing through a forest.  And then Clara is falling, falling all over again.

                She thinks she cries out when the images hit but Clara doesn't even know.  She doesn't know if she's standing up or lying down, awake or asleep.   Images, sensations, too fast and too many to comprehend flash before her eyes.   Clara can't see or feel anything else.  She is so many places at once.

                She's running through a cool forest.  She's screaming for help.  Lips touch hers in the dark.  There's a white gown in the mirror.  She's turning an ancient page.  John smiles at her.  Lavender yells coming towards her.  She's lying on a bed.  Pulling open a box.  A body holds her down.  She runs down a hallway.

                The flow of images crashes to a halt.  Clara can see again.  She gasps for breath, heart pounding.  She's on her knees, palms pressed into the oak floor.  John is saying something trying to get Clara to look at him.   It's too much.  Her mind can't focus after whatever the hell just happened.   John touches her face forcing her wild eyes to center on him. 

                "Clara. You're alright, I've got you."  He murmurs pulling her against him. 

                She presses her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of him.  Fingers' clutching at his rough linen tunic Clara begins to calm down.  The memory of the disjointed scenes still tugs at her mind but now she can start to push them back.   John strokes her hair and wraps an arm around her.   Slowly Clara draws away until she meets his timeless eyes.   They look gray now. 

                "What was that?" she rasps.

                "Prophecy."  Rose is sitting slumped on the edge of the wishing well.  She looks dead on her feet.  Her eyes are red and watery, and ringed by dark circles.  "Welcome to the mad house."

                Clara takes in the woman's appearance wondering just how much being a vessel costs her.   It's like Rose hasn't slept in days.   How much does it hurt? 

                "Do you know what any of that meant?"

                Rose shakes her head slowly.  "No.  Sometimes it's clear; like that you would come here.  But other times it doesn't make sense until it happens.  I don't think any of that had to do with how you got here or how to send you back, though.   At least not specifically anyway."

                "I was afraid of that.  'Your love shall surely die' I can't exactly sit around and wait for that, can I?"  Clara remembers the feeling of being trapped and screaming.  How is she supposed to just wait for those things to happen?  She can't.  She won't.  But without context how are they possible to prevent?  

                Clara groans putting her head in her hands.  A headache is rapidly building behind her left eye.  Why the fuck is this happening to her? 

                "It gives us something to go on." John says encouragingly.  "Besides the repeated use of the word 'clock', the prophecy also mentioned a 'book'.   It's not much of a clue but it's better than nothing."

                "He's right," agrees Rose, "It gives me something to look into."

                Clara doesn't mention the visions unsure if they know or not.   John helps her to her feet.  She leans into him letting him put his arm around her waist.  It seems so natural.  It's hard to believe they hardly know each other, Clara feels like John has always been a part of her life.  How can he do that? 

                Clara nods at Rose absently.  The idea that she will be able to get anything out of the prophecy isn't one Clara has much hope in.  It's too abstract.  Like a freaking Dan Brown novel and she's no cryptographer.   She wishes she'd never asked the Bad Wolf.  Now all her future points to in disaster. 

                And death.

                 Clara tries not to glance at John when she thinks it.  Love, it said love, and she doesn't love John.  She barely knows him.   It can't be referring to him.   She has to force down the panic crawling its way up her throat.   Clara won't go to pieces.  She's done with being the fucking victim.  It's time to get pissed.   John is not going to die.  No one is going to die.

                Everyone jumps when the door to Rose's apartment creaks open behind them.  John's dagger is in his hand before Clara can even blink.  He moves in front of her and Rose automatically.  Over his shoulder Clara can see a young black woman standing in the doorway.   She's beautiful in a fitted, red leather corset and blue pants.   Her thick, dark hair is pinned on top her head with gold bands. 

                "Good to see you too, Doctor."  The woman raises an eyebrow at John sardonically. 

                "Doctor?" Clara asks. 

                John laughs softly and relaxes his poster tucking the knife back in his belt.  "Clara Oswald meet Martha Jones leader of Order.  Martha here likes to make fun of me."

                "Nice to meet you."  Martha has a pleasant smile.  "John can't even handle a bandage properly; in fact I think he injured himself more the one time I saw him try to put one on.  And he calls himself a Knight."  She shakes her head in mock disapproval while walking over to Rose. 

                John rolls his eyes for Clara's benefit.  He's obviously trying to lighten the mood and she's more than willing to take his way out.  She needs time to process.  Talking about anything else is a great option right now.   Chatting with the leader of a coven of witches may not have been in her top ten pick, but Martha seems friendly enough.  And John likes her which is reassuring. 

                "So this is the mystery girl?"  Martha hands a small satchel to Rose.  She gives Clara the once over with interest.  Her kind smile takes down Clara's guard.   Martha turns back to Rose.  "Remember let the steep five minutes before drinking or it won't do anything."

                "I know, I know.  She's why I asked you to come." Rose says.  She's starting to look at little better.  At least now she can sit up straight.  "Clara needs protection."

                "Protection?" Clara glances between the two of them trying to figure out what they're planning.   She wants to know what she's being protected from exactly and how many people know about her. 

                "Warding against magic." Martha slips a silver chain over her head and hands it to Clara.  "This will prevent spells from taking possession of you."

                A tiny pendent hangs at the end of the chain.  It’s a blue box with windows carved in wood.  Clara doesn't think it looks very mystical, she was expecting chicken bones or some other crazy nonsense.  Though she'd much rather wear wood around her neck. 

                "It's charmed."  Martha answers her unspoken question.  "As long as you wear it your safe."

                Clara carefully puts on the necklace then tucks the pendent under her top.   She certainly doesn't want the Queen to see it.  If Viola found out she had this Clara's afraid to imagine what she would do. 

                "Thank you.  All of you."  She says hoping they see just how much this means to her.  "For helping me."

                A goofy grin lights up John's face at her words.  Warmth blooms behind her ribs.  She's falling fast, falling right into him.   It only gets worse - or infinitely better- when he leans down to kiss her.  It's nothing more than a quick press of his lips to hers.  Even that's enough to make Clara melt. 

                Yes she's falling.  Falling hard. 


	11. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John stands to pull her into his arms. He holds her gently running his fingers through her loose hair. Clara sighs, breathing him in. She could stay like this forever. Just them in their own world where they're safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! *Starts singing Monster Mash*
> 
> Ok so first off I've joined National Novel Writing Month this year. This means I might update only every other week during November (also i'm gonna cry a lot) Sorry ahead of time.
> 
> On with the show! Enjoy ;D

**~Changes~**

 

                As time passes life before Shades begins to feel like a distant memory.  A dream slipping way in the light of the dawn.  Like Clara's past is bleaching out the same way the colors do here.  She sits at the vanity waiting for her reflection to give her an answer to a question she hasn't formed.

                Clara instinctively grabs a letter opener when the bedroom door flies open.  Amy sails in beaming, red hair flying, arms thrown out.  Vastra and Jenny are right behind here carrying the morning tea service.  They are obviously fighting to keep their faces straight.  Clara drops the blade relaxing her posture hoping they didn't notice.

                "Guess who kissed Rory Williams!"  Amy says smugly, prancing around the room.

                "Jenny?"  Clara can't resist.  She smirks at the look Amy shoots her.

                "Well I certainly hope not."  Vastra brushes Jenny's dark hair back from her temple tucking it behind her ear affectionately.  Clara was right about them.  According to Amy they've been together since the dawn of time.

                "I was starting to think he was gay."  Amy explains, flopping onto the bed dramatically.  She nearly disappears into the coverlet.  "I'd never seen him take an interest in a girl once!  But it was because he likes me and didn't think I was interested!"

                "I take it you made your interest know."  Clara leaves her pointless vigil at the mirror and jumps on the mattress next to her friend.

                She curls onto her side watching the side of the girl's face.  Amy turns red smiling at the sheer canopy above them.  Clara can't help grinning too, she loves seeing her friend this happy.  Vastra and Jenny snuggle into the small sofa beside the stone fireplace.  It's a warm, quiet moment for all of them.

                "Once I wheedled it out of him, I might have attacked him."  Amy starts giggling uncontrollably covering her face with her palms.  A flush spreads down her neck.  "Afterwards I punched him on the shoulder, said 'see you later', and skipped off."

                Jenny snorts.  Clara can picture it now.  Hurricane Amy blowing through like the holy terror she is and knocking out poor, hapless Rory in her path.  The guy is doomed.

                "You're terrible!"  Clara laughs.  "You really just left him standing there?"

                "Frozen like a Nightmare in sun light."

                Fate or whatever deity sent the girls to her has Clara eternal gratitude.  They never fail to make her day better.  Honestly, there's no way she could get through this without them.  And it's strange because Clara feels like she's known them forever.   As if this morning routine of warm tea and laughter has always been part of her life.  It's so easy with them.  She fits right in with loud and boisterous Amy, calm, assertive Vastra, and Jenny the glue which holds them all together.

                They know about Clara and John too.  She couldn't keep something like that from them.   On some core level Clara knows she can trust the girls implicitly.  They will never betray their secrets.   Also they've been helping her meet with John without attracting attention.

                Vastra wasted no time in impressing upon her the danger she's putting John in by continuing a relationship with him.  As if the thought doesn't already scare her enough.  He doesn't have the luxury of the protection of royal blood, assumed or not.  At the same time all three of them want Clara to be happy.  'While you can' was how Vastra phrased it.

                Everyone knows there's an expiration date on all of this.  The date of the wedding was moved up by the Queen.  Officially because it's what's best for both kingdoms to relieve the tensions through royal union as soon as possible.  Clara knows it's because this gives her less time to find a way of the deal.  Something the Queen will never let happen.   And now she has less than a month. 

* * *

 

                Today they meet in the library.  John is waiting for her at a table in the furthest, most dust ridden section of the stacks.   The names of the books are faded and forgotten, their covers untouched for decades.  The musty, sweet air is heavy and intoxicating.  No one will find them here. 

                John stands to pull her into his arms.  He holds her gently running his fingers through her loose hair.  Clara sighs, breathing him in.  She could stay like this forever.   Just them in their own world where they're safe.   Then Clara can pretend they have more time.   She can forget that she has to go on the horrendous facsimile of a public date with the Prince tonight. 

                John pulls away only enough that he can press a little kiss to the tip of her nose.   "You look beautiful."  He tells her while his ears turn red. 

                He's so confident and awkward at the same time.  Clara wonders how he manages being such an oxymoron.  One minute he's the knight in shining armor and the next he's the shy guy in math class.   It's kind of adorable. 

                Clara rolls her eyes.  "You always say that." 

                 She kisses him, pulling his bottom lip between her own.  John's hand finds the back of her neck, fingertips trailing lightly over the exposed skin.  It's languid and unhurried.   Tongues running against each other, teeth teasing sensitive skin.

                 And it's not enough. 

                They see each other nearly every day when they aren't playing their respected rolls in the palace.   They kiss, they hold hands, they talk.  Nothing more.  It's too fast, too risky.   Clara feels this pull every time they touch, but she ignores it, she pushes it down.   She's happy simply being with John.  The want. The hunger. The need.   It's there burning in the back ground, but it's beyond the physical.  

                Clara wants to show John what she feels for him in ways that words can't.  Because looking into his eyes now, feeling his smile against her skin, Clara knows.   It's crazy, and improbable, and poorly timed.  And that changes nothing.

                 She's in love with John. 

                Maybe he can sense the change in her.  Maybe he's thinking the same things.  Whatever the reason, John presses her back against the stone wall.  Clara makes a soft sound when he rolls his hips against hers.   Fire is coursing through her veins spurred on by the quickening of her heartbeat.  His mouth sucks at the pulse point on her throat.   It's delirious. 

                Clara moves against him desperate for friction.  Taking his jaw in her hand she brings John's mouth back to hers.  Their lips don't meet instead the pause breathing each other in, eyes locked.  The pure want in his eyes nearly makes Clara come undone. 

                "Clara." He murmurs, voice wrecked, before closing the space between them. 

                She moans into his mouth when John rolls against her harder.  This needs to stop but she doesn't want to, she doesn't care.  Clara loves the feel of his hands on her waste, the texture of his skin under his shirt. 

                "I want you."  It's the most daring and most vulnerable thing she's ever said.  

                John rests his forehead against Clara's softly.  "If I could have anything in the universe I would chose you.  I would take you away from here and show you the stars.  I'd never let you go."

                A single tear escapes her eyes when Clara whispers, "I know."

                They sink to the floor where John pulls her into his lap.  He wraps his arms around her and she listens to the sound of his heartbeat.  Holding each other they pretend this is forever.     

 


	12. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold is taking Clara on a carriage ride through Violet City. Parading off their love for the happy masses. She marvels at the idiocy of them all, how can they actually think forcing their princess into marriage will make her happy?

**~Date~**

 

                Harold is taking Clara on a carriage ride through Violet City.  Parading off their love for the happy masses.  She marvels at the idiocy of them all, how can they actually think forcing their princess into marriage will make her happy?  Life isn't a Disney movie -not that they have any idea what that is.  Just because Oswin was a princess and Harold is a prince doesn't mean they will live happily ever after.   It doesn't mean anything. 

                The girls out do themselves getting Clara ready for the occasion.  Amy's a firm believer that even if she hates going out with Harold a great dress will make it better.  It makes her happy so Clara doesn't argue when Amy drags her into the closet. 

                The gown is outstanding, she isn't going to lie.   It just doesn't improve her mood.   It's cream silk with an overlay of light lilac lace which hangs in strips from her waist to the floor.  A pearl encrusted bodice, with off the shoulder sleeves, hugs her frame making it difficult to breathe.  Vastra says she will get used the constriction but in the mean time Clara always feels short of breath.  Yes, Oswin's' clothes are beautiful but sweaters are a lot more comfortable. 

                She meets Harold outside on the steps leading up to the main entrance.   It seems so long ago that the guards were dragging her up those stairs in a borrowed nightgown.  Her life has become a fairytale in those few weeks and like all classic fairytales this one is just as dark and twisted.  

                Harold bows formally and kisses the back of her hand.  Clara smiles inclining her head politely.  He takes her by the arm leading her to the open topped carriage waiting at the bottom of the stairs.   In her mind it is John touching her exposed skin; it's his lips on the black of her hand.  She tries to block out reality in favor of her beautiful dream.  The dream where he can take her on a ride through the city, where they don't have to hide. 

                Clara allows Harold to help her into the coach.  She tries to keep their physical contact to a minimum but there's no way to avoid sitting next to the man.   There is only one cushioned seat in the carriage and it's unfortunately small.   She sighs internally.  She's dealt with worse situations on public transit she can get through this evening without incident. 

                She is wrong. 

                "Have you had a pleasant afternoon, my dear?" Harold asks slipping his arm over her shoulder to rest against the back of the seat. 

                Clara very nearly blushes while anxiety curls in her belly.  He's just making conversation, he isn't insinuating anything.  There was no one in the library; no one could have seen her with John. 

                "Fairly uneventful." She relies lightly, folding her hands in her lap. 

                He nods a slight smirk about his lips.  Clara feels trapped.  There isn't enough room in the confining carriage to avoid toughing Harold with at least some part of her anatomy.  It makes her skin itch unpleasantly.  When his fingers brush the nape of her neck it takes all of Clara's not considerable willpower not to flinch. 

                She shrugs him off as subtly as she can, but it isn't like he won't notice.  They haven't made it down the hill into the city and this is already shaping up to be the worst date of her life.  Of course when you are fanaticizing about someone else that tends to be inevitable. 

               

                "Do you really want to marry me?" Clara says without warning.  She isn't sure what makes her ask it, but she needs to know.

                Harold's gaze openly roves her face, lingering on her mouth, before trailing down the rest of her body.  His hand stretches out to touch the ends of her brown hair.  "Why would I not?  You are royal blood and you are beautiful."

                Clara is torn between flattery and disgust.  There's no hint of respect or even duty in Harold's words.  He makes her sound like a piece of art he plans to hang on his wall.  The disgust wins out and she is actually tempted to hit him.  He looks at her like property not a human being.

                "Though your temperament could do with some work." He chuckles humorlessly at Clara's blatant glare.  "We can work on that after the wedding."

                "I'll save you the trouble." Clara spits practically vibrating with suppressed rage.  "I will never marry you."

                "And just how are you planning on getting away with that, my dear?"

                Clara clenches her jaw and turns away from Harold's smug face staring straight ahead.  The coach reaches the main road at the base of the hill.  A small crowd lines the cobble stone path, cheering and waving and even throwing flowers.  Their homespun clothing is frayed and faded in many cases displaying their poverty, yet they seem so happy to see the royal carriage.  Are they only pretending?

                "I thought not." Harold says the smirk clear in his voice.  He slides a hand to her thigh leaning closer.  "And what about them?  Do you think they will be cheering when you bring a war down on them?"

                "Don't fucking touch me." Clara hisses through gritted teeth. 

                She shoves his hand off working to keep the hatred from her face.  These people - her subjects in a weird sense - can't see her true emotions.  They can live happily in their ignorance that she isn't about to ruin all their lives.  Because she is selfish.

                "Fine."  He waves to the crowd smiling brightly.  There's no hint of his word in his expression.  "I will let you keep your delusions.  But just know, my dear, that when you are my wife you will be expected to act like one."

                Clara doesn't respond.  What can she even say?

                They stop at the main market of Violet City.  It is large and crowded with merchant stalls lining a hexagonal shaped forum.  A grand marble fountain stands in the center.  Its beauty contrasts sharply with the simplicity of the buildings around it.  A swan rears up, marble wings flaring wide, water spouting from its beak.

                Clara wishes she could explore, this place is unlike anywhere she has ever been.  She is a long ways from her village's supermarket.  The guards who followed behind them prevent her from leaving Harold's side.  She knows they are only doing their jobs but Clara still resents it.

                "Miss Princess."  Says a small voice somewhere around her knees.

                Clara looks down into a pair of large blue eyes.  A little girl about 4 or 5 is standing before her holding out a white daisy.  She has dark curls, rosy dirt stained cheeks, and a wide smiling mouth.  She reaches up to give Clara the flower. 

                Judging by the small gasps that go around the forum when Clara kneels down so that she's eye level with the girl this isn't typical royal behavior.  Sure the ground is probably going to damage her dress; she'll apologize to Amy later.  It is more than worth it to see the little girl's face light up.

                Clara takes the daisy and gently tucks in behind her ear.  "What's your name, Sweetie?"

                "Olive."  The child whispers timidly, her tiny fingers twisting in her brown frock nervously.

                "That's a lovely name."

                Olive turns cherry red.  "Thank you Princess."

                Clara's smile widens.  "You can call me C - Oswin."  She catches herself at the last moment.  Harold is standing only a few feet away and she has no doubt he will use anything to gain the upper hand on her.

                Hard as it is to move in a bodice, Clara leans forward and gives the girl a hug before getting to her feet.  She feels a little like one of the actors at Disneyland.  Her parents took her there once and honestly she's always dreamed of going again.  This isn't what she had in mind though.

                Olive ran back to her waiting, wide eyed, mother who is staring at Clara in awe.  She glances around uncertainly and finds a strange form of newfound respect in the faces of the onlookers.  They look proud and she is going to destroy everything for them. 

                Can she really place herself over all of these people?       

 


	13. Love and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara pushes open the carved wooden door and steps inside the web of her own personal spider. The tea service is set out on the round, silver burnished table in the center of the room like it always is when she gets pulled into these 'meetings'. Clara puts on her poker face and takes her customary place on the settee across from the Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: The 50th was freaking amazing! I got to see it in 3D and it was just epic XD
> 
> Second: Its almost winter break so I can update quicker and stop making everyone wonder if i've died or something.
> 
> Third: Happy Thanksgiving! Go eat lots of pie ;)
> 
> That's it! Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I totally failed at NaNoWriMo so to make up for updating every other week I wrote you an extra long chapter

**~Love and War~**

 

                The rest of the evening is a blur.  Harold leads her around the market, his arm firmly wrapped around hers.  Clara hardly notices what would normally piss her off; her mind is too focused on what has just taken place.    These people need a princess.  They need someone who actually cares about them.  Their King is a puppet and their Queen is a self obsessed bitch, neither of whom will lift a finger if it isn't in their own interests. 

                "I think it suits you."  Harold says breaking into her thoughts. 

                "What?"

                He holds up a velvet collar with pale moonstones.  Clara hasn't even noticed they are standing at a jewelers stall.  Harold's genteel mask is up again daring her to make a scene.  If she publicly refuses his gift there is no way it won't get back to Viola.  

                "It's lovely."  She moves her hair allowing him to wrap it around her throat.  His breath is hot against the back of her neck making Clara's skin crawl.  The collar is constricting and she can just imagine the invisible leash attached to it.   She fights down bile.

                Harold steps in front of her to admire his handwork.  "Oh yes, this suits you well."

                Why is she putting up with this?  She isn't a victim, but all she wants to do is cry.  She wants to be like the heroines in her books.  Reality is so much harder. 

                They ride home in silence.  Clara can feel the self satisfaction rolling off Harold in waves.  He thinks he's already won this game.  She will show him.  She will. 

                They say goodnight in the entrance hall.  Harold bows formally to kiss her hand.  It is all a show for the guards lining the hall, one of whom is Rory.  They won't suspect anything even when he straightens up then steps forward to whisper words that made her blood run cold, in Clara's ear.

                She stiffens when he leans in; afraid Harold is going to try to kiss her.  "I don't care what you do with him now, you little whore.  You will belong to me."

                Clara gasps as he steps back all smiles.   He knows.  He knows about John. 

                Inclining his head, Harold says, "Goodnight Princess." 

                She turns and runs.  It doesn't matter what anyone thinks Clara has to get out of there.  She runs all the way to Oswin's room, blindly rushing down the corridors.   Clara slams the door behind her then sinks to the floral carpet sobbing brokenly.  What is she supposed to do?

                "Clara?  Clara let us in!" Amy bangs on the door behind her.  The knob rattles as her friend tries to force her way inside.

                Clara squeezes her eyes shut breath coming out in shuttering gasps.  She needs to get control of herself.  Her whole body is trembling, her hands shake and her chest is painfully tight.  No one has ever spoken to her like that.  Nothing in her life even comes close.  How is she supposed to react to something like this?  Screaming and breaking things sounds like a really good idea.  But she can't move.

                _I'm going to kill him.  I'm going to wipe that smug look right off his fucking face._

                Oh god, she has to warn John.  He's in danger and it's all her fault.  Will Harold really ignore them assuming he'll control her eventually?  Who even thinks like that?  Over confidence doesn’t even begin to cover it.  He is insane.  Truly asylum worthy insane.

                "Clara what's going on?  Why won't the door open?" 

                The fact that her friends are out in the hallway pounding on the door finally registers.  How long have they been there?  She may have run right past them in her panic.  When did she lock the door?  Clara doesn't think the door even has a lock on it.

                "Alright." Clara calls, voice cracked.  "Alright."

                Pushing off the carpet she scrambles to her feet when Amy all but falls through the doorway.  The door bounces off the wall as she stumbles forward into the room right into Clara.  The girls grab each other for balance managing to stay upright.  They blink at each other then look back at the door.   The scenario would have been funny from anyone else's perspective. 

                Clara's right.  There is no lock.  She must have slammed it so hard it stuck.  Yeah, that's it.

                Amy bites her lip, her grip still on Clara's upper arms, obviously warring between asking about the door or why she's crying.  Concern wins out when Clara doesn't say anything immediately.  Vastra and Jenny slip in behind Amy glancing around the room before focusing on her tear stained face. 

                "So are you going to tell us what's going on or what?" Amy demands impatiently.

                "He knows."  The words are like ice freezing everything in the room.  Their looks of dawning horror match her own.  "Harold knows about me and John."

                Clara relates the evening's atrocities as quickly and dispassionately as she can.  Her voice toneless and robotic.  She stares at a point just past Amy's shoulder, eyes vacant.  It is only when Clara comes to Harold's last words to her that she stumbles.  A disgusting mixture of guilt and anger pools in her gut.  She shouldn't have let her feeling cloud her judgment.  She is a fool.

                "That Nightmare!" Vastra spits. 

                She aggressively smoothes down her smock as if that will do anything.  Perhaps it makes her feel better, a minuscule part of the world she can control.  That's the way with most people.  They cling to the little things in life because having control over something, no matter how small, makes them able to bare the rest. 

                "That's why Oswin 'ated 'im so much."  Jenny says in her hushed voice.  "'e must 'ave gone after 'er too."

                "Probably why the asshole didn’t even bother pretending to be anything other than a totally fuck.  He'd already played that game with her."  Clara's mask crumbles.  "I have to warn him."

                Vastra frowns.  "It's too late for you to be wandering the palace without suspicion.  I can tell him."

                She turns on her heel and leaves with Jenny before Clara can argue.  Not that she has a good argument, but this is too important, too personal to leave to a messenger, even Vastra.  She needs to see John, she needs to hear his voice and tell him that she's going to find a way to save him.  That everything is going to be alright, even if she doesn't believe it herself.   Clara's chest aches at the thought of him hearing this from someone else.  How could she have let herself become so attached? 

                "Come on." Amy murmurs.  "We have to get you out of this dress."

                Clara feels strangely numb while she helps unlace and remove the constricting gown.  Wow you never really appreciate how much your lungs expand until they can't anymore.  She takes her first full breath in ages, pulling a nightdress over her head.  Screw dealing with her smeared makeup or even brushing her teeth.  It's all too much and isn't that just pathetic?  This is what one stupid man reduced her too? 

                Clara climbs into bed and is only mildly surprised when Amy slips under the covers next to her.  She entwines their fingers and moves so their bodies are press together.  Amy really is like Nina, she knows when Clara needs something without it being said.  Now it's simple human contact.

                "You're kinda awesome, you know that?" she whispers.

                Exhaustion pulls at her mind dragging Clara towards the sweet realize of sleep.  Amy hums the affirmative rubbing soothing circles on the back of Clara's hand with her thumb.  Her warmth and companionship wrap around Clara like a cocoon.  This is what best friends are for.

* * *

 

                Amy is gone when Clara wakes the next morning.  Disappointment tugs at her heart though she understands Amy has far more responsibilities than keeping her company.  Maids have to clean and sew and manage all the other daily affairs no one else can be bothered with.

                Sighing, Clara rolls over and finds her nose pressed against a piece of paper.  Raising her head off the pillow to examine it she recognizes Amy's loopy handwriting.

                              _I didn't wish to wake you but I am needed downstairs._

_Remember the Queen wants to meet with you in her lounge_

_before midday.  In case I am not back in time to say it myself,_

_good luck and remember what Vastra taught you._

_Love, Amy._

                Oh great.  Clara groans, she hates meeting with Viola which can really be summarized as threats over tea.  Seriously, the bitch needs new material.  Though after the date from hell last night, she just might have some.   Great, just flipping fantastic.

                Climbing out of bed she stumbles towards the bathroom.  Clara winces when she catches sight of herself in the mirror above the bowl shaped sink.  She looks like a raccoon that got into a bar fight.  Hair tangled beyond all reason, makeup smeared under her eyes, and skin a chalky white.  Lovely.

                It takes all of her not so considerable skills to even look passable by the Queen's standards.  As she slowly works out her tangled locks Clara considers her options.  Last night she was freaking out, today she can think.

                The people of this world are relying on her to do the job of a princess, because that's what this is: a job.  No matter who was in the position the same duties needed to be performed.  The princess has to put the peoples' needs before her own.  And that means Clara has to marry Harold because no one else is going to.

                She will have to break things off with John if she goes through with the marriage.  It doesn't matter how much it hurt, she isn't going to put him in that position.  John deserves someone who can truly be with him.  Someone who can give the whole of herself to him.  That can't be her.

                Clara stares at the girl in the mirror.  Her reflection is a stranger.  A different girl wearing her face.  How could she have changed so much in such a short amount of time?

                _'Two lives and one face'_

                Is this what the oracle meant?  Clara thought the line was talking about Oswin, what if it isn’t?  What if it's about her and how much she's changed?

                _'Your love shall surly die'_

                This is it.  Clara will breakup with John and he will move on with his life.  He will find happiness and forget he ever knew her.  For his sake she can watch it happen.

                Shoving away these thoughts Clara finishes in the bathroom and heads to the closet.  She runs her fingers over the hanging garments marveling at their softness.  The amount these clothes must cost is staggering in a world where things are done by hand.

                Clara extracts one of the few dresses she can actually put on without assistance.  Long deep plum fabric with a gold cincher that belted at the front.  That plus gold sandals and a simple gold chain will have to be enough for the Queen.

                The whole way down to the Queens lounge Clara keeps looking around for John.  She wants to see him, to know he is okay. At the same time she dreads it.  The sooner she sees him, the sooner she has to say goodbye.  Clara swears her heart is dissolving in her chest, there is acid eating away at her insides.

                "Come in." Viola calls when she knocks on the door.

                Clara pushes open the carved wooden door and steps inside the web of her own personal spider.  The tea service is set out on the round, silver burnished table in the center of the room like it always is when she gets pulled into these 'meetings'.  Clara puts on her poker face and takes her customary place on the settee across from the Queen.

                "You wanted to see me?" Clara prompts not wanting to drag this out.  She can only fake politeness so long.

                Viola doesn't respond.  Instead she smiles demurely - yeah as if that is fooling anyone - and pours them both a cup of tea from the rose patterned pot.  Delicately selecting a tiny sandwich from the tiered tray Viola sits back in her plush chair. 

                Clara waits.

                "I am glad to see you have developed a sense of restraint."  The Queen sips her tea.  "You managed a whole evening in Harold's presence without resorting to violence."

                Okay… that isn't what she was expecting.   She blinks at Viola in surprise.

                "Oh surely you did not think I is unaware that the man is little more than a thug with a crown?"

                "And you want your daughter to marry him?" disgust and outrage colors Clara's voice.

                "The Gray Kingdom will surely make a move against us eventually.  Wither tomorrow or a hundred years from now, the war will happen.  Yet if the blood lines are merged it would halt such decisions.  I did not obtain this throne only to lose it to a group of barbarians."

                Stony expression back in place, Clara takes a bite of sandwich spread with a spicy cheese paste.  Swallowing she says, "So it's all about you."

                "Undoubtedly."  Viola's teeth sparkle as much as her jewelry.

                "What is stopping me from refusing?" She gauges the Queen's reaction, watching for some tell or weakness.

                Viola's lips twitch, smiling around her cup.  Slowly she sets down the China keeping her bemused gaze locked on Clara.  "For answer to that just check your right thumb."

                What?  For a second Clara is sure she misheard her, but Viola's eye flick down to her hand.   It goes against preservation instincts to drop her gaze from the Queen but she manages.  Turning her thumb upwards Clara finds a small puncture wound in the center of the soft flesh.  She didn't feel anything.  When the hell did that happen?  More important: what does it mean?

                "It is astounding what one can accomplish when someone is not looking." Viola smirks, holding up a long silver needle tipped in what Clara realizes must be her own blood.  "Now you cannot leave to confines of this palace unless I say so.  You are bound to me now.  There is no escaping this."

                The Queen quietly sips her tea letting that sink in.

* * *

 

                The courtyard is silent and empty.  Clara finds herself there before she even knows where she's going.  Everything after seeing the needle is a daze.  How did she even get out here?  It makes sense though, this - despite what happened the first time she sat on this bench - this is Clara's favorite place out of the whole palace.  This is their place, their bench.  Hidden from prying eyes behind a circle of fur trees.  Though now she has reason to doubt that security. 

                "I hoped you would be here." Her pulse speeds up at the sound of his voice.

                This is going to be impossible.  "John we need to talk."

                He catches her grave tone immediately and sits down beside her.  "If this is about what the Prince said -"

                "No it isn't.  Not exactly."  Clara hesitates choking on her words.  "We - We can't do this anymore."

                John grips her hand squeezing it when she won't meet his eyes.  "I'm not afraid of him.  We can leave!  We can cross the Border Mountains and leave both of these damned kingdoms behind.  We can start a new life somewhere else."

                 There's a desperate edge to his words that tares at her.   Clara's vision blurs with suppressed tears.  This really is going to kill her.  But she has to do it. 

                "The Queen has me bound.  I can't leave."  She finally looks up at him.  "And what about these people?  I can't run away and leave them to a war, what kind of person would I be then?  I have to go through with this, I'm sorry."

                Clara springs to her feet intending to run away and never look back, because if she does she won't be able to leave him.   John won't let her.  He jumps up catching her arm and spinning Clara to face him.  There is sorrow and determination in his eyes.

                "No.  I'm not giving up that easily." John says before capturing her mouth with his in a searing kiss. 

                It is rough and desperate, begging her not to leave him without words.  Clara's resolve shatters when she feels his pain.   And no matter what her brain is screaming at her to do, she kisses him back. 

                Their lips break apart but John doesn't let her go.  His hands cradle her face as though Clara is the most breakable, precious thing in his world.  "We will find another way, I promise.  I love you, Clara, and I am not giving up."

 


	14. Stars and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara falls into the kiss. How could she have wanted to give this up? John makes her feel complete; filling a part of her she never knew was missing. He's right, there has to be another way. Nothing that feels so perfect could be the wrong choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late! I'm a horrible person, between commissions, finals, headaches, and my job, time just totally got away from me O_o

**~Stars and Blood~**

                Love.  He said love.  Clara thinks she might be imagining things, yet the way John presses his lips to hers, soft, devoid of lust, only affection, is starting to convince her.

                Clara falls into the kiss.  How could she have wanted to give this up?  John makes her feel complete; filling a part of her she never knew was missing.  He's right, there has to be another way.  Nothing that feels so perfect could be the wrong choice. 

                She smiles into the kiss before pulling back, "I love you too."

                John's amazed smile could block out the sun it is so brilliant.  He seems almost bewildered.  "Why?"

                Clara lets out a bright peel of laughter.  "Because I just do, stupid.  I could ask you the same thing."

                "And I could give you a million reasons." He says. "None of them would be enough to explain it; words cannot do my feelings justice."

                "Exactly." She turns her head to kiss the center of his palm.

                John folds her into his arms and Clara listens to the sound of his heart letting it wash away all her fears.  There is a way out of this.  A way to stop a war and not lose herself in the process.  They only have to find it.

                "I am surely going to the Darkness for this." John murmurs into her hair.  "But I will never stop fighting for you."

                Clara knows she's selfish, knows she's only putting him at risk. "How can I ever deserve you?"

                He pulls back to look down into her eyes, expression serious.  "How can you even ask something like that?  You are willing to forsake your own happiness for the people of this country.  All I have done is risk your honor by pursuing you with no promise of marriage.  In all regards that makes me no better than a cad."

                Clara can't resist an embarrassed giggle.  Wow, she really should've seen this one coming considering how everything else works in Shades.  John thinks she's still a virgin.  Granted she's not very experienced, just one boyfriend in collage, but still.  And if John thinks he needs to protect her honor that probably means he's a virgin too.  Again, wow.

                "What?" He questions confused by her response. 

                "It's just that things are a little different where I come from.  People don't care about sex before marriage.  At least most people don’t."

                Clara suppresses another smile when a flush creeps up John's neck.  She doesn't want to embarrass him or hurt his feelings.  For a moment he can't speak, he keeps opening his mouth but nothing comes out.

                Finally John clears his throat with an awkward cough.  "Have you - umm?"

                She can't hold back her grin anymore.  "My mythical virtue is not intact, no."

                A whole slew of emotions play across his face, surprise, want, embarrassment, but she isn't expecting the anger that flashes in his eyes.  For a horrible second Clara's afraid that it's directed at her.  Considering the way John was raised turning away from her because she isn't "pure" wouldn't be all that shocking.  But it's quickly apparent that isn't what is bothering him.

                "A man took you into his bed without any promise of marriage and then he left you.  The fiend!  He ought to be clapped in irons!"

                "Did you really just say 'ought'?"

                John isn't listening, preoccupied with his outrage which Clara figures she should take as a compliment.  It may be outdated and sexist, but chivalry was actually kind of nice.  As long as John recognized she could take care of herself, it feels pretty good to be treated like a lady.

                "I broke up with him if it makes you feel any better."  Clara rolls her eyes, placing a hand on his forearm to calm him down.  "Like I said, things are different where I come from.  Women can do the seducing and the dumping, and lots of women are single mothers raising a family with no man involved at all."

                John raises his nearly invisible eyebrows at that.  He opens and closes his mouth like a befuddled fish.  The man really is quite the dork for a knight.

                "It's not that I believe women incapable of handling themselves or anything.  I'm fully aware Donna could not only take me down but also yell until my ears bled.  That is simply a big idea to wrap my mind around."

                "Don't worry, I understand."  It isn't like she's going to pressure him or anything.  That sounds silly even to herself.  Not that she doesn't want to … well Clara's certainly had one or two dozen odd fantasies about John in the last few weeks and she knows from their afternoon in the library she can easily make him lose his head.  But she doesn't want to manipulate the situation; physical intimacy has nothing to do with how she feels about him.

                Clara reaches up to touch John's face softly.  "This is all I need; you here with me."

                The lines around his eyes deepen when his face relaxes into a smile.  She feels like her chest is expanding with a glowing warmth building inside her.  It is amazing that Clara can find happiness even with everything on the line.  Yet even the dimmest light glows brighter in the darkness.  John is her light, her star in a black, cold universe.

***

                "There is nothing I can do."

                The words make Clara's universe that much darker.  Martha watches her sympathetically from her place beside the fire in Rose's living room.  The witch plays with one of her necklaces obviously trying to think of something more to say.

                "A blood spell can only be lifted by the castor, not even the most powerful warding spell can protect someone from the call of blood.  Blood is the key to the heart, the vessel of the soul.  There is nothing in this realm or any other stronger."

                "So I'm trapped."  It isn't a question, merely a statement of fact.  Clara doesn't look at John who has gone ridged beside her on the little sofa.  "Unless I can convince Viola to let me go."

                "Or you kill her." Martha adds matter-of-factly.

                "How about we don't discuss regicide while inside the palace?"  Rose gives Martha a look clearly questioning her sanity.  "What we need to do is figure out what really happened to Oswin.  I'm convinced that is what shall get us out of this mess.  Beyond getting away from the Prince, who had the most to gain from her disappearance?"

                Everyone falls silent thinking it over.  Clara has been asking herself that same question every day since she got here.  The war is the last thing Viola wants even if Clara wouldn't put it past her to harm her own daughter.  The king actually seems to care, well, when he's lucid anyway.  And Harold wants Oswin as a trophy which took the Gray court out.  Really the only person who never appeared to be pleased by her supposed return is …

                "Lavender."

                It is so obvious Clara's tempted to smack herself in the head for not seeing it before.  Who had the most to gain by Oswin's disappearance?  How about the girl who would never become Queen with her alive?

                "She wants my spot on the throne."

                John lets out a worried breath, rubbing his jaw while considering it.  "But how did she do it?"

                "How should I know?  But it has to be her!" Clara jumps to her feet and starts pacing back and forth, her tiny frame practically vibrating with excitement.  She's right, she knows she is!

                Rose cautions her.  "You cannot simply accuse a member of the royal family of murder."  She scrutinizes Clara's face closely.  "We still have no proof Oswin is even dead.  And that is what we need proof.  We need to prove Lavender is involved before we can do anything."

                "How are we supposed to do that?" Clara cries exasperated, she just wants this over with.

                "I think I know."  Martha puts in.  "I've been looking into ways to travel between realms for a way to get you back to yours.  Most of the texts on the subject are quite esoteric as you might imagine, but during my research I realized one of the books is missing from the library.  Whoever has that book has our answers and if you are correct then Lavender is the one who has it."

                "A book, like the prophecy said." John says. "It may not be enough to convince anyone else but it will at least connect Lavender if we find it."

                Clara frowns.  "But why would she get rid of Oswin only to bring me, her doppelganger, here to take her place?  That's what I can't figure out."

                No one has answer. 

 


	15. One Night, This Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only good comes the next morning when a selection of Hunters arrive as a backup guard. Clara's jaw drops when she sees Jack closely followed by Alonso step into the entrance hall.

**~One Night, This Night~**

 

                The days until the wedding pass quicker and quicker as though someone has sped up the sun.  What had been weeks has become days.  Each hour that ticks by mocks Clara's hope and chips away at her.   It's a countdown until the end and nothing she does seems able to stop it. 

                They've tried to catch Lavender in a lie, they've tried to find the spell book and they simply can't.   Amy and Jenny searched her room top to bottom and Martha and Clara have tracked her every movement.  Nothing.  The only conclusion she can make is that Lavender is keeping the book with her at all times.  She must have found some way to disguise it or make it smaller.  And Clara can't exactly just attack her and go through her pockets.  Not that she isn't tempted to.

                Clara stands in the doorway to her little stone balcony with a quilt wrapped around her shoulders.  It snowed last night, another reminder of the passage of time.  The thin layer of white covering the courtyard is blinding compared to the muted tones of everything around it.  Her eyes trace the trails of footfalls across the smooth surface. 

                Clara wonders if one day she'll wake up unable to remember what the colors used to look like.  Maybe one day she'll wake up and forget everything before Shades.  Her life will just have been a dream that faded in the morning light. 

                She shivers turning away from the cold.  Stoking the small fire she tries to think of some new plan of attack.  There are only two days left until the 'wedding of the century'.   The whole country is in a fervor of excitement.  Everyday more and more gifts from dignitaries and Politicians arrive at the palace which has all but shut down in preparation for the event.  There is now an entire room that has been set aside for all the arriving bouquets of flowers.  If she ever smells a rose again it will be too soon.  Clara does her best to ignore all of it.  

                Only there is the one part she can't get out of.  The dress fitting tomorrow.   Thankfully Vastra is her seamstress so Clara doesn't have to pretend to be happy or anything.  Feigning a smile through that would be too much.  How she's got through all the preparations so far is to pretend she's walking down the aisle to meet someone else.  In her mind it's John standing under the arch wearing a suit and that smile he saves just for her. 

                It's beautiful even if it's only a dream.

                The rustling of the doorknob shakes Clara from her revere.  Amy bustles in carrying the morning tea and wearing a slightly forced smile.  Her friends have been doing their best to stay positive for her sake.  Amy's worry is beginning to crack through her cheerful façade but, as often as Clara tells her she doesn't have too; Amy still tries to keep it up.  

                "It's bloody freezing downstairs!" Amy says by way for greeting setting the tray on the counter of the vanity.  "I think someone forgot to turn on the heating. There are actual icicles forming in the cellar!  People would think we've run out of money or something!"

                "Considering how much they're spending on decorations maybe we have."

                At first Clara found it strange that the palace seemed to have all the same amenities as her world only instead of running on electricity they ran on magic.   Heating, lighting, plumbing, the only tragic exception was the internet.  There were no computers to be found here which pretty much made all of Clara's particular skill sets obsolete. And though she missed tampering with them the lack of computers was surprisingly easy to adjust to.  Only she really does need a new hobby.      

                Amy makes an irritated noise at the back of her throat as if the wedding budget personally insulted her.  It must be really cold down stairs if it's ruining her normally cheerful demeanor.  She moves her hand too fast when reaching for the tea cup and knocks it over.   The amber liquid spills out over the ceramic tray and onto the wooden vanity. 

                "Oh for Pete's sake!" Amy cries reaching for the towel on her belt. 

                Clara moves forward grabbing her hand before she can touch the liquid.  "Look."

                Both girls watching in horrified amazement as the drink begins to eat through the wood, burning and sizzling.   Acrid smoke rises from the growing blackened patch of the counter making them step backwards.  Whatever it is doesn't hurt the tea set, the remnants still in the cup look just like innocent tea. 

                "Poison." Amy breaths, her voice barely above a whisper.  "Someone poisoned the cup."

                Clara nods absently trying hard not to imagine what would have happened if she drank it.  Someone tried to kill her.   She almost died.  Her mind is having trouble getting past that particular thought.  Holy crap, someone actually tried to poison her. 

                "I don't think I was supposed to make it to the wedding." Clara mutters feeling faintly sick. 

* * *

 

                When the news of her near poisoning reaches the Queen the palace goes into lockdown.  Troops are stationed at every entrance and Clara is given a full detail to protect her at all times.   This means five heavily armed men including the Violet Knight 'Ten' watch her every move.  She can't follow Lavender, she can't meet with John, she can't do anything.  So she mostly sits in her room slowly going crazy with inactivity while they stand outside her door. 

                The only good comes the next morning when a selection of Hunters arrive as a backup guard.   Clara's jaw drops when she sees Jack closely followed by Alonso step into the entrance hall.   They both look exactly how she remembers and she can tell by the way their eyes dart around they're looking for her too. 

                "Jack! Alonso! Over here!" Clara shouts running down the grand staircase to meet them.  At this point she couldn't care less what anyone thinks of her or her manners.  Screw all of them, these men saved her life.

                Both men's eyes light up in recognition as Clara throws herself on them in a hug.  It's so good to know nothing happened to them after she was taken away.  She was afraid they would be punished even if they didn't do anything.  But they're both fine and they're here. 

                "Well this is a new look for you." Jack says eyeing her lilac gown and hair braided with tiny pearls. 

                She rolls her eyes. "Tell me about it."

                Alonso's brow furrows in concern.  "I take it they still think you're the Princess, which means this is your wedding?"

                Clara glances around the hall to make sure no one's listening.  "If you have nowhere you need to be you can join me for lunch and I'll explain everything." 

                "Lead the way m'lady" Jack nods with his usual flirtatious air to which his husband only shakes his head in amused exasperation. 

* * *

 

                Clara only finishes telling them the whole bizarre story when Vastra arrives to drag her back to her room for the dress fitting.  Jack and Alonso tell her not to give up and promise to make sure to 'patrol' past her room later.  She hugs them both again and lets Vastra lead her away.

                When they reach her bedroom Vastra has Clara wait while she has the dress brought in.  Three maids she doesn't know come in carrying what has to be a solid ton of fabric.   Clara hasn't seen the dress until now and she can't deny she's curious.  Despite the situation she knows Vastra is a genius so the gown has to be fantastic. 

                The other maids leave and Clara slips out of her clothes.  Goosebumps raise on her skin in the cool air, the fireplace is doing little to battle the November -or whatever month it is here- chill.   Vastra has her step inside the circle of the dress so she can begin pinning it up.   Cream silk and chiffon and gold lace get wrapped around her curves like a second skin.  Clara can't get the full effect without a mirror but what she can see is truly gorgeous. 

                Vastra checks the measurements in a few places, running her over with a critical eye.  She nods to herself then finishes off the dress with a cream flowered waist band and a sheer shrug-like contraption.  Clara is afraid to move lest she trip over the thing and land on her face.

                "Perfect."  Vastra's serene face breaks into one of her rare smiles.  Yet, it's tarnished somewhat by the reality of the situation.   She moves Clara in front of the full length mirror so she can finally see the dress.

                It really is perfect and Clara feels sick.  The cream skirt is full and wide while the gold lace bodice hugs her small frame.   The sheer cream train falls out in waves behind her, pooling on the floor in chiffon clouds.   Its connection to the skirt is covered by a thick silk sash which rests at an angle across her hips bound with a bunch of cream roses.   The ethereal look is completed with a shoulder covering which matches the train and is pinned with two golden roses over her heart.  It takes her breath away and she wants to cry.

                "It's amazing." She manages for Vastra's sake and of course it's the truth.  Clara would have chosen this dress out of a hundred others if she was planning her wedding.  Somehow that makes things worse. 

                Vastra just inclines her head seeming to understand exactly what she's thinking.  Reaching into her apron pocket Vastra pulls out a small black glass bottle with a round stopper.  She presses it into Clara's palm.  "Martha wanted you to have this."

                Clara holds the bottle up to the light.  It's full of a fine grayish colored powder.  "What is it?"

                "A sleeping draught.  Simply put some in your husband's drink and he will be out within minutes.  We realize it's not a perfect solution, but until we have something better…  It will at least keep him  from touching you."  Vastra frowns obviously trying to think of something to say to make this better.  "I'm sorry Clara."

                Clara glances at her reflection in the mirror again.   Tomorrow she gets married and they've run out of time.  "Yeah, me too."

* * *

 

                Night falls along with the last of her hope of a way out of this mess.  Clara sits alone in her room watching the fire.  No matter how long she sat there she can't get warm as if despair has leeched all the heat from her body. 

                Briefly Clara wonders if the fall from the balcony would be enough to kill her.  No she isn't going to take the cowards way out.  She is going to keep her head held high and do her best for the people of Shades.   She is going to get through this even if that means a life of drugging her husband every night and loving another man.  She will survive. 

                A commotion outside the door interrupts her dark thoughts.  Clara can hear her guards arguing with someone.  Sneaking across the room she tries to make out what they're saying.

                "The Oracle sent me, ok?" Jack's voice stands out among the others.  "Do you really want to argue with her?  I just have to tell the Princess something and then I will be outta your hair."

                "Fine, but five minutes is all you get." Says a different voice and there comes a rap at the door.

                Clara hesitates not wanting them to know she was listening.  After a breath she pulls open the door to meet Jack's smiling face.  He has a burlap sack slung over one shoulder. 

                "Good evening, You're Highness.  I have a message for you from the Oracle."

                "Come in." She steps aside playing along with his routine unsure if he really has a message from Rose or not.  Closing the door behind him Clara faces him with raised eyebrows.  "Is this the 'patrol' you promised earlier?"

                "Even better." Jack smiles setting down his sack and opening the drawstring.  From it he withdraws what is obviously a rolled up rope and step ladder.

                "What is that for?" Clara asks bewildered trailing after Jack as he heads straight for the balcony.  

                "Our wedding present."  Is all he will say while he ties off the end to the railing and throws the ladder over. 

                Clara leans over the edge wondering what Jack is up to.  Then she sees who has the other end of the ladder.  John and Alonso are standing in the courtyard below her window.  Alonso waves to her cheerfully while John begins climbing up.  Clara doesn't know weightier to laugh or yell at them for risking themselves like this.  She settles for grinning foolishly when John clambers over the side of railing.   

                "Umm hi." He smiles back at her straitening up.  There's a deep blush creeping down his neck that makes her strangely nervous. 

                "Hi."

                Jack chuckles pulling the ladder back up and setting it off to the side.  "Well I'll see you two tomorrow then."  He slips back out before Clara can say much more than thank you. 

                "I really like your friends." John says, he gaze falls to her lips which distracts her from whatever she was going to say next. 

                Clara bites her lip nervously and looks down at her hands.  Her stomach is suddenly full of butterflies as it dawns on her they are alone in her bedroom.  They are almost always alone together but this feels different.  She's afraid to think about why.

                John touches her chin tilting her face up towards his gently, insecurity clear in his eyes.  "Is it ok I'm here?" 

                Clara covers his hand with hers, feeling her face flush with a returning smile.  "Of course it is.  I'm just surprised, doesn't this cross one of your boundaries of honor?"

                "I have been thinking about what you said about the way things are done in your world."  John says carefully making her heart speed up.

                 Is he saying what she thinks he's saying?  "And?" she breaths voice barely above a whisper.

                "And I came to a decision."  His hand sides down to slip the neckline of her nightdress off her shoulder.  Clara shivers as fingers ghost over her collar bone.  John's gaze keeps locked with her, serious and honest.  "I would gladly give up eternity for one night with you."

                Happiness and desire overcome any hesitations she might have.  John wants her and she wants him, and it is as simple as that.  Leaning up Clara wraps her arms around his neck, letting her kiss be answer enough.  He grins against her lips hands resting on her hips.  Together they move in the direction of the bed.

                Clara undoes the belt at John's waist letting it fall to the floor.  He pulls off his tunic between kisses.  Her hands run over the skin of his chest hardly able to believe this is actually happening.  She gasps when John sides the neck of her nightgown down to press his lips to the tops of her breasts.  Her fingers tighten on his shoulders. 

                 They quickly remove the rest of their clothing.  John's eye widen when he finally sees all of her and Clara has never felt more loved or beautiful.   She wants this forever.

                "It won't just be one night." She promises pulling him down onto the bed with her.  Tomorrow and the rest of the world disappears.  John's lips and tongue map her body finding all the places which make her breath quicken.  His touch washes away everything else. 

                He hangs above her resting on his knees, his adoring gaze tinged with concern.  "I have never done this before, I'm afraid I could hurt you." He admits running a thumb over her lower lip.

                "Do you trust me?"

                "Of course. I-" 

                Clara hooks her leg over his hip pressing up into him.  "Then let me show you."

 

 


	16. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stands silently beside Harold Saxon while the minster makes a speech about the gods and Light and Darkness and a bunch of other things she doesn't care about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Christmas Special happened... commiserating hugs for everyone.
> 
> I didn't want this particular chapter to coincide with the ep so sorry about that in advance.
> 
> Warning: If you are squeamish about violence this might be a hard chapter for you.
> 
> *goes and hides*

**~Snow~**

 

                She wakes with the first light that filters through the curtains.  Shaking off the dregs of sleep Clara wonders why she can't move, then she feels the arm wrapped tightly around her middle.  John is curled around her, a long line of heat against her body.

                She smiles enjoying the sensation as memory of the best night of her life floods through her.  A warm glow spreads through the blood in her veins filling Clara completely.  It seems so cheesy, but the way John makes her feel is as if she swallowed the sun.

                Carefully moving his hand Clara rolls to face him.  John's hair is a mess and his lips look very tempting.  Clara decides to wake him the best way she knows how.  Kissing him into wakefulness is a fun task.   She rolls on top of him grinning as he fights sleep to catch up with her, hands reaching up to tangle in her hair.

                "Morning." He mumbles with a laugh between her kisses.  Blinking up at her John takes in her impish expression and the fact she's straddling him.  His eyes widen subtly.  "Morning." He repeats.

                Clara giggles.  "You know we have at least an hour before anyone comes to collect me."   She says coyly trailing a finger down his abdomen.

                "Do we?" John's breath hitches when her finger goes lower. 

                He seems to lose the power of speech entirely as Clara lowers her mouth to taste him fully.  The next several minutes are lost to sensation that ends with John gasping her name breathlessly.  Clara loves that she is the one who can make him come undone like this.   She crawls back up his body to kiss John's mouth again.  This is what she needs: just _them_. 

                "You are perfect."  His touch and words have a reverence that makes her blush.  He treats her like a goddess, even as he flips their positions so he can give Clara the same treatment she gave him.  He's a very quick learner.  Fingers tighten in the pale lilac sheets and John slides down her body making her forget everything except the feel of him. 

* * *

 

                It is nearly time for John to make his escape via the rope ladder Jack left coiled in the corner.  Clara snuggles closer to his side at the thought.  She can't stand the idea of him leaving, of having to pretend none of this ever happened.  Of her own unwanted marriage.  

                "I don't want you to go."  She admits in a whisper. 

                John sighs and sits up lifting her with him.  He pulls Clara into his lap resting his hands against her waist lightly.  "If I had any choice I would stay here with you in this room for the rest of eternity, my impossible girl."

                She likes the way he uses the Bad Wolf's name for her.  Clara drops her gaze to where her fingers rest against his chest, knowing he will understand her next words.  "I don't think I can do this."

                He uses a hand to lift her chin, trailing kisses along her jaw line, the corner of her mouth, and finally her lips.  His lips tease a smile out of her.  "You can do anything.  If there is one thing I have learned since meeting you, it is that.  You can get through this illegal sham of a wedding and once you have drugged him come to me.  I will wait for you."

                Clara's response is a kiss with a desperation that surprises even her. 

* * *

 

                                Vastra and the girls arrive with the purpose of an invading army to get her ready for the wedding that will take place in just a few hours time.   Despite the circumstances they are determined to make Clara the most beautiful bride anyone has ever seen.   As Crown Princess people expect nothing less and my god were there going to be people.  The guest list for the Marriage Ball numbers in the hundreds.  

                Clara keeps repeating a mantra in her head to get through all the combing, buffing, and washing without getting sick.  She will see John tonight.  She just has to make it through the day and then she can see him again.  It will be their wedding night; at least that's what Clara forces herself to believe. 

                "'ere, you need to drink this." Jenny's soft voice breaks into her thoughts. 

                Clara raises an eyebrow at the cup of strange smelling, pink colored tea being handed to her.  It doesn't smell bad exactly, just really weird.  "Umm... What is it?"

                Vastra gives her a very steady stare.  "A plant extract which prevents women from producing children."

                She turns red suddenly understanding her friend's expression.  "You've been talking to Jack, haven't you?"

                Amy burst out in a fit of giggles which seem out of place in the somber atmosphere.  "Everybody knows Jack and since you told him we were in the loop he … well…. Kept us in the loop."  She squeezes Clara in an excited hug.  "I can't believe you corrupted a Knight.  Good job."

                No one can keep a straight face after that particular comment.  This is exactly what Clara needs right now: distraction, something to keep her mind off reality.   So she laughs and drinks the bitter tea.

                Before long the girls are finished and they allow Clara to see the final product.  She steps up to the mirror and doesn’t recognize herself.  Her reflection in the white and gold gown looks almost ethereal.  The light makeup accents her features perfectly and her hair is twisted up elegantly atop her head.   She looks like a queen; she wants to smash the mirror.

                A knock at the door makes Clara jump.  Amy rushes over to open it and one of the last people Clara wants to see walks in. 

                "If I could have a moment alone with my daughter."  Viola says pointedly forcing Amy, Jenny, and Vastra to leave the room.  She waits until the close the door behind them before speaking.  "The dress suits you."

                "Fuck you." Clara says crossing her arms.

                The Queen laughs delightedly at her complete lack of propriety.  "I see you are not concerned for your own wellbeing anymore which makes what I have come to say that much more important."

                She is sick of being threatened.  "And what's that?"

                "Oh, only that it is no longer your safety you need to be concerned with.  If you try to mess up today's events in any way, if you deviate from the ceremony at all, I will have him killed."

                Clara's mouth falls open.  How?  That's all she can think. 

                Viola smiles her wicked grin.  "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?  You managed to seduce the most honorable man in either Kingdom, a feat which deserves praise in and of itself.  But know that I will not hesitate to act against John Smith if I am forced to."

                The Queen nods her head in a mock bow and turns on her heel.  She pauses beside the door.  "Hopefully the Prince finds your bed pleasing as well, whether it's used or not." 

* * *

 

                The wedding itself goes so fast Clara can hardly remember it.   The Grand Chapel - at least that's what she calls it - is lavishly decorated.  Everything is crystal and gold to match her dress.  There are so many people watching as the king leads her down the aisle.   They all smile as if this was something to be happy about. 

                She stands silently beside Harold Saxon while the minster makes a speech about the gods and Light and Darkness and a bunch of other things she doesn't care about.  Clara is on autopilot.  She repeats her vows under a name that isn't hers.  She extends her arm so the minster can wrap a gray and violet ribbon around there wrist to symbol their union.

                And like that it is over. 

                Harold takes her arm and leads her to the Wedding Ball.   If he says anything she doesn't hear it.  They lead the dances, spinning in and out of the other partners.  Clara focuses on the steps and not the continued congratulations she receives.  It seems like she dances with everyone in the room.

                The party is a work of art in itself.  Crystal goblets, gold plates, glowing flowers that fill the air with sweet perfume.  All the guests are in their finest; Clara has never seen so much lace in her life.  Sparkling gowns and tailored suits, diamonds, pearls, and gems cover every finger and hang from every neck.  And the music weaves them all together perfectly. 

                They eat - well everyone else does, Clara only pretends - and listen to speeches from dignitaries and members of both royal families about love and honor.  It is the first time she's really seen anyone else from the Gray Court.   The Queen, though beautiful, could be a wall for as much personality as she shows.  Harold's five sisters look equally beat down making her wonder just what life is like for women in their kingdom.  The King is much like his son so Clara avoids looking at him.

                Then before she knows it Harold lifts her bridal style from her seat to the cheers of the guests.   He kisses her and Clara forces herself to not pull away.  The crowd throws flowers as they part a path for them to the door. 

                "Time to go, my dear." He says as he carries her from the ballroom.  They are headed to the marriage chamber which has been prepared for the wedding night.  Apparently it is a royal tradition.   

                She catches one of the flowers and thinks of little Olive in the square.

* * *

 

                Pouring the contents of the black bottle into one of the wine goblets on the dresser is easier than she expected.   Harold is too busy removing his caplet to see what she is doing. 

                "How about a drink?" she says hoping she isn't being too obvious turning to face him.

                "Marvelous." He grins wolfishly stepping forward and placing his hands on the dresser on either side of her. 

                Clara tries to smile despite how close he is and reaches behind her to hand him the glass she drugged.   Taking her own glass she sips the liquid prompting him to do the same.   Harold drains it quickly.  Now all she as to do is wait.

                 Clara smile for real this time.

                Setting down the empty goblet, Harold's hands slid down the front of her bodice.  "Now why don't we get you out of that dress?" He purrs leaning down to nuzzle her neck.  

                "Get away from me!"

                Clara shoves him away in disgust.  How can he even think she would willingly sleep with him?  Hasn't she been clear enough already?  In a few minutes the drink will take effect then she can get the hell out of here.  That can't happen soon enough.

                Fury flashes in Harold's eyes, an unreasonableness Clara's never seen before and it terrifies her.  He lunges forward grabbing her hair viciously.  She cries out at the sudden pain as he drags her towards him.

                "I told you I would expect you to act like a wife." Harold hisses closing his other hand over her throat.

                Clara thrashes wildly panic chocking her thoughts as he squeezes off her airway.  Beating on his arms and prying at his fingers does nothing.  She tries to kick, to knee him in the groin, but nothing lands.  Her movements are slowing down; her limbs are no longer under her control.  Horror fills her, it's as if -

                A smug grin creeps across Harold's features when the realization hits her.  "Your attempt at subterfuge was clever but in vain, my dear.  You see, I switched the glasses behind your back."

                Oh god this isn't happening. Renewing her fight Clara claws at him desperate to escape before the full effects kick in.  Raking her nails across his face causes Harold to lose his hold momentarily.  Wrenching free Clara runs for the door, only her legs are unsteady beneath her.   The drug makes her stumble into the wall.

                "Bitch!" He roars seizing her and dragging her back while she screams incoherently.

                 He lifts Clara easily throwing her down onto the marriage bed.   She tries to scramble away but her arms hardly respond.  Strength slips from her body dragging Clara towards unconsciousness. 

                A sob of fear and frustration rips from her throat when Harold climbs on top of her.  She can't move.  She can't fight him. 

                "Let me go!" Even her words are slurred.

                "You will learn to behave." His hand finds her neck again pressing down just enough for her to feel it before moving to cup her cheek almost lovingly.  "You belong to me now and I will have what is my right as a husband."

                Ignoring the bile in her stomach Clara concentrates all her will into turning her head and biting his hand as hard as she can.  She tastes his blood in her mouth before Harold slaps her so hard her vision blurs.  Clara's head jerks to the side, the pain dulled by the drug.

                She can see the window.  Outside it's snowing again.

                "Please." She begs.  Her body is limp and going numb.  Tears blur the snow into a white haze.  She can feel him pulling off her dress.  "Please."

                Snow is pure and beautiful.  It hides the ugliness of winter.  It makes the earth new again.  Clara focuses on it as his weight presses down on her.  His weight is all she can feel through the haze.

                "You are going to enjoy this." A voice whispers.

                The snow is white.

                Clara is having trouble remembering why she is crying.  Why she can't move.  What is holding her down? 

                There is snow outside. 

                It is beautiful.

                There is crashing and shouting.  Voices yell then there is a loud noise.  The weight above her is gone.  Someone is saying her name over and over.

                "Clara?  Clara?  Oh gods!  Clara!"

                She tries to smile when John's face appears in her field of vision, but for some reason her muscles don't respond.  He makes her happy, she loves him.  Clara doesn't understand why he is crying.  Why his hands flutter above her with nervous energy.  He looks horrified.

                "I'm sorry Clara, I should have come sooner. I'm sorry."  John's voice cracks.  "It's going to be okay, I promise, baby.  It's going to be okay."  He covers her in a blanket, carefully lifting her into his arms.

                She doesn't understand what he is saying.  All she manages before slipping into darkness is "Love you."

                Outside it is still snowing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't kill me!


	17. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He jumps to his feet and rushes to Clara's side the moment her eyes open. Pale and drawn, he seems to have aged overnight. His fingers twitch as if he wants to reach out and touch her, but John keeps his distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about leaving everyone hanging after last chapters horrible end. (I never promised this would be a cheerful story)   
> Anyway I'm back and the end isn't too far off, only a few more chapters to go.  
> Reviews are always welcome :D  
> Enjoy

**~Crash~**

 

                _Clara swims through a violet sea which stretches out endlessly in every direction.  There is nothing beyond the warm hazy water surrounding her.   With each stroke she pulls herself forward to what she knows not.   The collar around her throat is heavy and slows her down.   It drags through the water, a long gray-black line, pulling her towards the bottom._

_Steadily Clara sees someone swimming towards her out of the murky darkness.   It's a girl with dark hair which floats around her, blocking her face.   Another push of the water moves the girl's hair to the side.   She is staring at herself.  But no, the girl she is swimming towards is not her, she only looks like Clara.   She stretches her arm out knowing she needs to reach the girl who shares her face.  Darkness rises turning the violet sea black.   Their fingers reach for each other…_

                Clara wakes with a start, lurching upright as the potion wears off.  Gasping for breath, her heart beats painfully fast and her whole body aches.  She fights to remember what happened, while realizing she's in a bedroom she's never seen before and wearing a rough linen tunic which isn't hers.

                The room is small and sparsely furnished.  A chest of drawers and a bed that is little more than a cot.  The single other item in the room is a chair which is currently occupied by John.  He jumps to his feet and rushes to Clara's side the moment her eyes open.  Pale and drawn, he seems to have aged overnight.  His fingers twitch as if he wants to reach out and touch her, but John keeps his distance.

                The previous night returns in a flood of unwanted images, disjointed and blurred with whole sections missing altogether.  It's enough to piece together what happened.  More than enough. 

                Clara stares at the shape of her knees under the thin blanket.  She doesn't breathe.  She doesn't blink.  She can't really think.

                She was…

                Clara can't even say the word in her own mind.  She never thought Harold would actually- bile rises in her throat like the scream she's chocking on.  Running, crying, bathing in a vat of boiling acid to remove him from her skin, is what she wants to do.  To remove her skin.  She can't be in it, it's wrong. 

                Clara doesn't move, she refuses to.  If she does then he steals her mind too.  He already took her body.  It isn't hers anymore.  He was inside it, he stole it from her.  Clara feels cold and dirty and broken.  Her body is cracked porcelain about to crumble apart.

                She will not cry.

                Less than thirty seconds have passed and the world has changed completely.  John is still standing beside the bed watching her helplessly.

                "Clara?" he begins hesitantly.

                 His voice is hardly more than a whisper and she still flinches anyway.   Immediately Clara feels horrible.   This is John.  He got her out of there; she knows he did, though she can't remember more than seeing his face.   This is the man she loves, the man who would never hurt her.  He saved her and now here she is hurting him. 

                "I am sorry." He murmurs stepping back before Clara can say anything.    

                "No." Her voice is hardly audible as the tears she's fighting begin to leak silently down her face.  Her fingers reach toward him.  "Please."

                John is at her side in an instant folding Clara tight against his body.  She needs this.  Something stable, someone to ground her, prevent her from drowning in her own mind.  Pressing her face into the warmth of John's body she fights to suppress the memory of Harold's fingers around her throat.  She thanks the universe and any deity out there that she was too far gone to remember the rest. 

                Oh god what is she going to do?  Clara feels a burning hate curl in belly.  She isn't going to let him near her again; she is going to make him pay.  The anger cuts through the helplessness, it isn't much but she isn't going to drown.  Clara will not let him take anything else from her. 

                Slowly she pulls back from John's tear soaked shirt to look up at his face.  His strange old eyes have never been darker or more careworn.  She can see the barely contained rage there. 

                "I should have come sooner.  What he did, I should have stopped him.  I should have -"

                Clara touched his face softly.  She doesn't want him to blame himself, she couldn’t stand it.  "No.  You did come."  Leaning in to brush his lips with hers softly she whispers, "Thank you."

                John turns to stone beneath her hands, his eyes wary.  "Love, I can't.  You are vulnerable right now."

                Clara has the strangest urge to laugh, something she doesn't even know she's capable of anymore.  "Damn your honor.  Please just kiss me."

                 It may be months, or years, or never before she's okay again.   Before she's the woman she was yesterday morning.   But for right now she needs to feel something good, to feel loved and cared for, and worth something.  And Clara tries to tell John all that when she presses her lips to his again.  Slowly he understands and comes to life under her touch.  He kisses her carefully, softly, smoothing over some of the cracked porcelain of her body. 

                John jerks back as the door crashes open, instinctively shielding Clara with his body.  Panic floods her, her mind filled with images of Harold coming back for her.  Instead she sees a troop of palace guards rushing the small bedroom.  Clara barely has time to react before they are dragging John from her.  Ripping him from her arms. 

                She shrieks like a mad woman trying to reach him as the men pull him struggling from the bed.  Another solider grabs her from behind to stop her.  "No! Let go of him!  Stop!"

                Ten men to one, John is quickly subdued and clapped in heavy iron maniacs.  There is a bruise already being to form under his left eye.  He doesn't react, just keeps his eyes steadily fixed on Clara.  She knows John is trying to reassure her, but she's not stupid.  They've found them together. 

                "Sir John Smith, First Knight of the Gray Kingdom, you are hear by charged with treason."  Says Angelo, the Captain who first brought Clara to the Violet City.  "This treason includes the dishonor of the Crown Princess of the Violet Kingdom and the murder of Prince Harold Saxon of the Gray Court."

                John's head snaps up in surprise at his words.  "Saxon is dead?"

                Angelo continues as if he didn't hear him.  "For these crimes only one punishment is fitting: death by the executioner's axe.  Now take him away."

                Clara screams his name as John is dragged from the room. 


	18. There Is More Than One Of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real question is, Clara thinks as the guards open the glass inlayed doors to the great hall, if John didn't kill Harold Saxon then who did? Who gained from assassinating the would-be future King?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello My Lovelies!!  
> I'm sorry about the delay on this chapter I got really, really sick last week. But hey, I'm still breathing!  
> Thanks to all the people who have given kudos and subscribed to this story. You're all awesome!  
> Enjoy :D

**~There Is More Than One Of Everything~**

 

                A healer is called in to calm her down since Clara refuses to stop fighting the guards.  They are clearly trying to prevent her from injuring herself.  She doesn't care, she claws at eyeballs indiscriminately.  John is in danger and she has to save him.

                This is her only purpose in life: save John.  Save the silly man who has stolen her heart with his kindness and awkward mannerisms.  Her life has come to this.  She was born to save the man Martha calls the 'Doctor'.

                Clara almost breaks free of one of the two men holding her bruised arms, when the door swings open.  The young hedgewitch standing framed in the entrance looks utterly terrified.  Seeing the Crown Princess raving like a crazed feline is enough to alarm anyone.  The girl looks about twelve with long dirty blond hair and large eyes.  She is dressed in layers of soft brown fabric and a leather cincher with bronze buckles which makes her look even smaller than she is. 

                "Giver her something to calm her down." Demands a guard, dodging Clara's nails.

                The hedgewitch hesitantly comes forward clearly afraid she will attack her too.  Holding out a shaking arm she extends a finger towards Clara.  Despite her better instincts she goes still when the little girl touches her.  Unbeknownst to the rest of the room Clara still has her protection amulet on under John's faded tunic.  She can feel the spell rolling over her body in waves, calling out to her, pulling at her senses.  It can't take hold however and Clara pretends to relax letting them think it's working.

                "It's okay, Princess." Says the girl soothingly.  "My name is Marry."  She smiles though her nerves sweetly.

                God, she is just a child.  Marry doesn't even know how big of a lie she's telling.  She doesn't know how fucked up the world is.  Clara, used and exhausted, stands in the middle of the pathetic room shivering as the cold freezes her exposed legs and watching the girl apathetically.

                Sure everything is fine.

                The guards hold her loosely now, perhaps to make sure she doesn't collapse or something.  The taller of the two starts to check Clara over for injuries.  His eyes freeze on her neck.  He moves the hair out of the way, eyes widening in alarm.

                "Sweet Darkness.  Look at this." He breathes, gesturing to the other two.

                Clara keeps still, her face neutral and impassive.  She's pretty sure she knows what they're looking at.

                "Those are handprints." Exclaims the shorter guard in horror.  "He tried to strangle her."

                Marry twists her fingers in a strange gesture as if to ward off evil.

                "It was Harold." She says quietly startling all three of them.  "He attacked me.  John saved me."

                Clara can tell they don't believe her and it turns her stomach.  How could anyone think John capable of this? 

                "I think she might be under the influence of a love potion." Says Marry in a tiny voice as if Clara can't hear her.  "It would explain her behavior.  People act highly irrational and even violent.  And they will believe anything the subject of their infatuation tells them, even if it directly conflicts with their own memories."

                "That's sick."

                "That is why love potions are outlawed." Marry replies sounding more mature now.

                It's useless to argue so Clara keeps her mouth shut.

* * *

 

                Clara is taken directly to the great hall on the Queen's orders.  They don't even let her get dressed.  The tunic covers everything important but it still leaves her feeling open and vulnerable.  Though that probably has nothing to do with the clothing.

                  All the while her mind is racing.  Can Harold really be dead?  And did John kill him?  She doesn't care if he did; the man was a rapist, thug who deserved what he got.  John seemed genuinely surprised to hear he was dead though.  Either way they can't kill him for protecting her.

                This damned situation gives Viola the perfect excuse to punish him for ruining her plans without starting an international incident by killing a respected member of the Gray Court.  There is no way she will waste such a golden opportunity.  She won't hesitate to execute John.

                The real question is, Clara thinks as the guards open the glass inlayed doors to the great hall, if John didn't kill Harold Saxon then who did?  Who gained from assassinating the would-be future King?

                Clara knows the answer to that immediately.

                Nearly everyone in the palace is in the hall when she steps in.  it's an obsence number considering all the guests who stayied overnight after the wedding.  They all turn to stare at her.  Whispers and cries of outrage move through the crowd like the buzzing of a horrents nest.  This particular public humilation was obviously Viola's intent.  None of the horrified or sympathtic faces effect her because Clara's eyes are on John.

                He is bound and shackled before the throne in a circle of empty space occupied only by the royal family.  Blood drips from his lips and his face is black and swollen.   Still John's eyes light up when he sees her.   The King stands over him eyes burning in rage.  The Queen is making a beautiful performance of weeping.  And Lavender. 

                Lavender is triumphantly calling out her own damning evidence in a ringing voice.

                "I saw Sir Smith leaving the marriage chamber carrying my sister, unconscious, in his arms.  She was covered in nothing more than a blan-"

                "Oswin!" The King cries cutting off Lavender when he sees Clara.  The crowd parts as he rushes to fold her into his arms face distraught with real concern that tugs at her heart.  "Dear Gods!  You shouldn't be here, not in this state."

                She pushes out of his arms, eyes focused only on Lavender.  

                "You! You did this!" Clara screams in front of everyone.  Playing along doesn't matter anymore, this ends now.

                "Oswin, what -?"

                "I'm not Oswin.  My name is Clara Oswald, I was born in England and I AM NOT THE PRINCESS!" She levels a finger at Lavender, who is frozen before the stunned onlookers.  "She got rid of the real Oswin so she could inherit the thrown but she fucked it up!"

                "YOU BITCH!" Lavender screams suddenly shocking the room into silence.  Rage twists the younger girl's face into a hideous mask.  "How was I supposed to know getting rid of her would open the portal for you?"

                Before Clara can process anything Lavender slashes her arm though the air sending a tongue of jet-black flame straight for Clara's heart.   Adrenaline slows the moment down as the fire slices through the air.  Instinctively she throws up her right hand, palm out, and stops the fire in its tracks with a wall of blue energy.

                For a moment no one moves.


	19. God's Gonna Cut You Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What propels her to act Clara doesn't know, she has no idea what she's doing. But she has to do something. Drawing on the warm energy that is running under her skin feels as natural as breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off if you haven't heard 'God's Gonna Cut You Down' by Johnny Cash go listen to it now. It's (like everything by Johnny Cash) is amazing. 
> 
> Second, thanks to all of you who have stuck with me so long! It really means a lot :)   
> I'm not sure how many chapters are left to this story, but we're close to the end....
> 
> Hope you're all having an fantastic week!  
> I always love reviews  
> Enjoy :D

**~God's Gonna Cut You Down~**

 

                What the?

                The blue shield dissipates from the air, shimmering out of existence.  Everyone stands frozen including Clara.  She has no idea what just happened.  Hot energy surges through her veins making her body hum to life.  As if every atom is on fire.  The bruises on Clara's neck and arms fade, the small cuts covering her skin seal.  Her mind is finally clear.

                It's magic.  She used magic.  But that's impossible.  She isn't from Shades.  She can't have powers.  This is not possible.  _It just isn't._

                Clara's mind reels in the space of a heartbeat, maybe two.

                "How did you?"  Lavender breathes, her rage momentarily stilled by shock.  Uncomprehending confusion smoothes over her features.  "You are not her-?"

                "Seize her! Guards!"  John shouts from his position on the floor, struggling against his restraints. 

                The spell holding everyone in place shatters at his sudden cry.  The men who were restraining John rush forward at Lavender, hands outstretched.   They don't make it three feet.  Lavender flings her arms out to the sides blasting them backwards with an unseen force.  The guards smash into opposite walls.   Dark hair flares out around Lavender's pale features as if she is underwater.   Her dress floats at her ankles.

                What propels her to act Clara doesn't know, she has no idea what she's doing.  But she has to do something.  Drawing on the warm energy that is running under her skin feels as natural as breathing.

                 Inhale.  Pull it to her center. 

                Exhale.  Twist her fingers and release.

                The force of a hurricane spreads from Clara's fingertips racing towards Lavender.  The girl deflects, dancing around her attack.  Her eyes are wide and wild.

                "I should have killed you!" Lavender spits as they begin to circle each other.

                They step in time, eyes locked.  Adrenaline pounds the blood in her ears.  The onlookers press back widening the space around the two women.  Clara isn't sure if they are unwilling to help her or if Lavender is preventing them from moving forward somehow.  Either way they are useless to her.  Their fear is palpable.

                "Probably." Clara curls her upper lip.

                They strike at the same time.  Blue energy against black.   Their spells connect in midair setting off a blast which shatters the windows lining the hall.  The sound is deafening and the recoiling force nearly brings Clara to her knees.   Stained glass implodes like a million lethal gems into the crowd.  Deep violet, dusted rose, and palest yellow make red as they slice through exposed skin and fabric.

                Her split-second distraction is too long.  Lavender whips her arm out searing Clara's cheek with black flame.  White-hot pain unbalances her spinning Clara sideways.  Scrambling for footing she pulls for every scrap of power in her body, dragging it to the surface.  

                She needs to get up or she is going to die.

                Nerves taunt as piano wire Clara turns back to the mad woman only in time to see Lavender hurl the silver dagger hidden up her sleeve.  The knife cuts through the air directly towards her.  Already knowing it is too late, Clara releases every bit of the searing energy she has left at Lavender.  It roars like wild fire across the empty space between them.

                A grayish blur slams into Clara knocking her out of the blade's path at the last moment.  She crashes unto the cold, marble floor hard, head cracking against the tile.  Gasping painfully for breath she watches the blue surge, tinged with flecks of golden light, pierce Lavender's breast.  It sinks into her treacherous heart. 

                The girl totters on her feet, locking eyes with Clara in surprise.   She blinks once slowly before crumpling to the floor.  She doesn't move again, her body strangely peaceful looking.  Clara can't stop staring.

                "Clara."

                A strained gasp rips her violently back to the present.  John is on his knees beside her, hands still bound and chained.  The small silver knife is stuck deep in his chest, red blooming around it.  Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth as he struggles to breathe.

                Clara's brain refuses to process what she is seeing.   John pushed her out of the way.  He pushed her out of the way of the knife.   Oh god. 

                "No."  She doesn't even recognize her own wreaked voice as she scrambles to reach him.  "No. No. No."

                John collapses into her arms his strength failing quickly.  Pillowing his head in her lap, Clara cradles his face.   Her vision is blurred with hot tears.   This isn't real.  Please let this not be happening.  Please.  

                "Someone help me!" Clara screams but no one moves.  There is nothing they can do and everyone knows it.  

                Pressing her hand against the wound she desperately tries to staunch the blood flow.   The thick liquid runs in rivulets over her shaking fingers and onto the floor.   It won't stop and the man she loves is fading away in her arms.  And she can't stop it.

                Coughing a spray of the blood filling his lungs, John fights to speak.  "You w-will be okay no-w."

                "Don't talk like that." Clara sobs bending over his body.  "Don't you dare leave me."

                He smiles and his teeth are red.  Arms restrained by the manacles, his fingers clutch at her as if it will keep him there.  "I l-love you."

                Clara presses her mouth to his begging him to stay with her.  She can't lose him.  Her soul is breaking.   John kisses her back with the last of his strength straining to obey her pleas.  She whispers that she loves him too.  She tells him that it will be okay.  That they will grow old together.  That they will be happy.  That she will never stop loving him. 

                John keeps his eyes on her while she speaks.  She doesn't know if he can hear her anymore but she doesn't stop talking until they lose focus.  His eyes grow vacant and his body goes slack in her arms.  

                Clara cries out in anguish as John slips away from her. 

                 Her grief echoes off the walls of the silent room.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me O_o


	20. Little Girl Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you really die of a broken heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing my family already thinks I'm crazy, since I was listening to super sad instrumental music while typing this on my typewriter and drinking a margarita. wow... my life....
> 
> I would like to apologize for not putting trigger warnings on this story until now. I simply didn't know where this story was going to go. If I upset anyone at all I am deeply sorry.

**~Little Girl Lost~**

 

                Time stretches on for an eternity.  Sitting on the freezing tile floor, Clara cannot feel anything.  John is gone and Clara is numb to everything around her.  She breathes in and out slowly waiting for him to smile and tell her the last two days were nothing more than a bad dream.  And Clara knows he won't.  John is a dead, a lifeless weight in her arms.

                The world around her moves quickly as if it is trying to make up the difference.  The King comes to life.  The shock of seeing Lavender lying on the ground and the woman he believed was his daughter trapped in a silent world of grief breaks Viola's power over him.  He cries for the guards to seize her.   The Queen is too surprised to react in time to stop the men from grabbing her.  The King orders them to bind her arms and gag her mouth to prevent her from using her powers.

                "I do not even know you.  I do not even know you."  He keeps muttering, his expression slack-jawed and bewildered.

                No one seems to know what to do or what to think as the Royal Family crumbles before their eyes.  They stand watching as though it were a film happening in slow motion, impossible to ignore and yet completely detached from their lives.

                Clara notices none of this until she realizes someone is speaking to her.  Amy is kneeling beside her with silent tears dripping down her cheeks.  At some point her friends had arrived and were surrounding Clara.  Ten, Rory, and Donna are trying to move John's body but Clara will not let go.  She can't.   If she lets go then it is over, then he is really gone.

                "You have to let him go, Clara."  Vastra says, gently uncurling her fingers from John's tunic.  "Please, Sweetheart."

                Letting out a soft, anguished sob Clara lets them lift John from her arms.  She collapses into Amy's waiting embrace and buries her face in her friends shoulder.

                Can you really die of a broken heart?  Poets talk about soulmates but what if you lose that soulmate?  How does your soul survive when it is only half whole?  How do you survive the drowning pain in your chest, the empty hole of the future you have been denied?

                Maybe you can't.   Maybe from that moment on you are just a ghost.  A shade flitting from day to day until you find them again.

                It is too much for Clara to bear so she lets the waiting numbness take hold of her.  Yet no matter how much she wants to, she can't stop feeling.  Even as her limbs begin to shake with the effects of shock, the physical pain in her breast is all consuming.  It is like she is lost in a forest in her own mind.  It is simply too much to feel at once.

                Her friends help Clara to her feet and guide her from the room.  She follows blindly.  All she can see is John's battered face as they carried him away from her.  He looked peaceful.  She can feel his touch, his lips on her body.  Clara can still hear his carefree laugh.

* * *

 

                The funeral is two days later.  It is a surprisingly grand affair with the Kingdom in such a state of upheaval.  The Queen has been dethroned and imprisoned.  The King cannot remember much of what happened in the last 25 years.  One princess is in a medically unexplainable coma and the other is assumed dead at her sister's hands.  It is chaos.

                Sir John Smith is exhumously pardoned of all charges and deemed a hero.  While Prince Harold Saxon's body is unceremoniously returned to his Kingdom in disgrace.   The story is out now and everyone knows what really happened or at least most of it.   Rumor fills in the gaps as the news spreads throughout both Kingdoms.  No one seems to know who told however. 

                None of this matters to Clara when it is reported to her each night where she sits in Rose's chambers.  Going back to Oswin's room was never an option so Rose graciously let her stay, giving her the soft sofa in the corner.  There Clara sits and watches the fire in the hearth.  She doesn't know what else to do.  She can't sleep, she can't eat.   And her friends leave her be, knowing Clara needs to grieve. 

                Someday she might be able to smile again, but not today.

                Clara is dressed in glittering black when she stands at the front of the mourning party.  She is being given the honor of John's widow, wither it is true or not.   It feels true.

                The service is held in the beautiful black wisteria grove behind the castle.  It is strange to be outside after so long.  The winter sun makes Clara deathly pale as she gazes over Violet City below them.  Finally Clara gets the courage to look at the coffin in the center of the grove.

                  It is fashioned of fine dark wood carved with symbols to preserve the body inside and prevent decay.  The lid is a dome of clear crystal displaying John just as he was in life.   Clara smiles through her tears.  The same minster who said her wedding vows gives the eulogy.  It is a strange sort of irony.  John would have laughed.  

                The words are beautiful, about honor and sacrifice, but they do not say anything important.  They don't talk about his crooked smile or the silly way he waved his hands when he spoke.  They don't talk about his kindness or how much he loved her.  They don't talk about how much Clara loved him, how much she misses him.  The words are not enough.

                When he finishes Clara stands on trembling legs and walks forward to the edge of the coffin. 

                Please just wake up.  Please, for me?

                She places a single rose of the glass and leans down to kiss the cool surface.

                "Thank you."

* * *

 

                The lilac sun is setting below the distant hills.  Golden streaks of light cross the clear, cold, twilight sky.  Clara stands by herself watching it all.  It seems as if the sun itself has also come to pay respects to the Gray Knight that day.  A crunching of leafs alerts Clara that she is no longer alone, but she doesn't turn until the person speaks.

                "What a lovely sunset."  Says the King without looking at her.

                Clara doesn't respond, waiting for him to say what he wants.

                The man understands.  "You could stay."  He says softly.  "The people love you, and I do not know the last time they loved anyone at all.   You could stay."  He repeats it like a plea.

                Clara watches the sun disappear behind the hills.


	21. The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her dark cheeks are flushed and her eyes are fever bright. Clearly she ran all the way down to Rose's chambers by the way her breast is straining against the tight leather corset.
> 
> "She is not dead!" Martha gasps out urgently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greeting my lovelies!
> 
> Okay so I know this story has gotten really depressing lately, but I promise it won't stay that way forever! (my fingers are not crossed or anything! I swear) So thank you all so much for sticking with me through all the angst, I know i'm evil to put our characters through all this.
> 
> Anyway that was my public service announcement for the day ;)
> 
> People who review get cookies and hugs (and maybe a sneak peek into the future)
> 
> Enjoy :D

**~The Door~**

 

                Time passes and Clara has no response for King Toby's offer.  She still has no way out of Shades and back to her little village.  Even if she did get home could she ever be happy with a life fixing computers now?  No one would ever believe her story, they would think Clara lost her mind.  How could she just go on pretending none of this happened?

                Pretending he never happened.

                She's been used, controlled, and violated in every possible way.  She's made friends, discovered a new world, and fallen in love.  And now Clara understands true heartbreak and the meaning of grief.  Denying all of it would drive her mad, not that she doesn't think maybe she already is.  Keeping her sanity seems too much to ask.

                But can Clara stay here in the place where she was imprisoned, rapped, and forced to watch the love of her life die in her arms?  Everything thing here reminds her of him and it's too much.  And there's the other memories, the ones which make her violently ill when she sees Oswin's door.

                No. I'm not fucking going there again.  Clara shakes her head trying to force down that train of thought.  She can't keep going over what happened. There's nothing she could have done.  It isn't here her fault.  Replaying Harold's fingers around her throat only served to upset her.  And Lord knows she already has enough to do that with.

                The clock on Rose's gray wood mantel strikes twelve, the tiny bell chime pulling her back to the present.  Its cheerful tone is discordant with the mood of the room.  Jack and Alonso are on the plush settee across from her, that's floral patterned fabric nearly disappears into the plant filled wall behind them.  They came to visit Clara everyday in an attempt to cheer her up, which she greatly appreciates even if it doesn't work.

                The room has lapsed into somber silence again.  Clara feels guilty for causing it, then of course she feels guilty for feeling guilty for grieving.  It's a never ending spiral that makes her head hurt.

                "I brought you something."  Alonso smiles hesitantly seeing her comeback to herself.  He leans down to pull a small worn book from his bag.  "It's a collection of fairytales."

                Clara takes the book running her fingers over the faded cover almost reverently.  And for the first time since the funeral she smiles.  Fairytales, where everything ends with 'happily ever after' and true love always wins.  It is the kind of ridiculous optimism John possessed.  It's what he would tell her to believe in.  A happy ending, no matter how dark things were or how impossible it seemed.  That there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

                "Thank you." She say, her voice watery.  "For everything."

                Wordlessly Rose pushes the white bone china platter of sandwiches towards her and finally Clara agrees to eat.  However subtly, something has shifted.

                That doesn't stop her from jumping nearly a foot in the air when Martha suddenly bursts into the room.  Her dark cheeks are flushed and her eyes are fever bright.  Clearly she ran all the way down to Rose's chambers by the way her breast is straining against the tight leather corset.

                "She is not dead!"  Martha gasps out urgently.

                Jack and Alonso both leap to their feet in the presence of a lady which Martha completely disregards.  Clara's never seen her this worked up before.  Her heart constricts with fear.  Dear god what's happened now?  What else could possibly go wrong?

                "Who is not?"  Rose asks calmly.  There is a flash of the Bad Wolf in her eyes.

                Exasperation flits across Martha's features.  "Oswin!  Oswin is not dead!"

                "How do you know?"  Clara gasps, sitting up straighter.  Her mind reels at the implications of what this could mean.

                "Where is she?" Jack declares speaking at the same time.

                "You found the book."  Rose is quicker on the uptake than the rest of them.

                Martha nods causing her jet earrings to swing wildly.  "Clara was right,  Lavender was keeping it on her the whole time.  She used a reduction spell, but I found it after -"  She freezes before for saying John's name.  "I-I didn't want to say anything until I knew more, but I figured it out.  I know what she did."

                "What?"  Clara hates the suspense and just because she has some kind of latent magical ability doesn’t mean she understands any of this witchcraft stuff.

                Martha swallows hard, turning paler.  "She opened a Door."  The capitol D is clear in her awed voice.

                "That's impossible."  Alonso murmurs faintly, sinking back onto the settee while his husband makes a noise of disbelief.

                "How?"  Rose breathes.  "How did she do it?'

                "Archaic magic.  It must have taken years of preparation."

                "Wait." Interrupts Clara.  "What the hell is a Door?"

                "It's a soft spot."  Jack explains, his expression calculating.  "I always thought they were a myth, it's a soft spot between worlds.  According to legend there are places where the barriers between worlds are thin, places where a person could open a Door and step through.  I mean, I had my suspicions when I first met you but I never thought this could be possible."

                Clara's mind is trying to keep up with all this.  "Wait, so that means Oswin is -?"

                "In your world."

                "Holy shit.  But that still doesn't explain why I'm here!"  She gets up and starts pacing in agitation.

                "Yes it does.  Lavender opened the portal for Oswin and you are Oswin."

                "What?  No I'm not."

                Rose brushes aside her protests with a wave of a hand.  "Martha and I have speculated on this for awhile now, and I would say this new confirms our theory.  You are the Oswin of your world, just as she is the Clara of ours."

                Clara stares at her.  "You mean I'm her double.  And-And in my world there are other versions of all of you too?"

                Martha nods.  "But considering the obvious differences between you and the Crown Princess, you are only the same biologically.  You might have similar interests, similar tastes, and mannerisms, but life has made you different people."

                She is silent for several minutes mulling this revelation over.  "We have to get her back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points if you know what other fandom I'm referencing


	22. Jump Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strangely it seems to take longer to reach the river than Clara remembers even if she isn't on foot this time. The hours pass slowly while she wonders what she's supposed to do when she reaches home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings Friends!
> 
> Sorry this took awhile I've been swamped with Finals and term project disasters. -_-
> 
> I've been toying with the idea of doing a couple scene of this from John's pov... Would anyone be interested in that? Maybe I'm just trying to hold onto this story since there are only like 3-4 chapters left.
> 
> Anyway, reviews are always welcome!
> 
> Enjoy :D

**~Jump Again~**

 

                King Toby reluctantly agrees to let them go.   He asks Clara over and over if she is sure about this.  The whole venture risks him losing the only pseudo member of his family he has left.  But Martha explains her theory stressing that Oswin, his only sane daughter, is still alive and trapped in the wrong world.  The King caves at the thought.

                So that finds Clara and her small entourage bumping down the Royal Road in a cramped carriage.  Amy insisted on accompanying her, though she already had Jack and Alonso as a guard and she alone will be able to cross the portal.  It is still nice to have Amy with her, even if it's only in the position of lady in waiting.  Martha, of course, is also there since she is the only person who understands this stuff.

                It is almost funny to find out all she ever had to do was jump back into that fucking river.   Clara could have avoided all of this shit so easily.  But despite everything she's glad she didn't.  She got to meet John and she's discovered more about herself in these last months than in her whole life.  She is stronger now. 

                Clara leans her head against the window letting the cold sun play across her skin.  They've been traveling for several hours and exhaustion feels like it is leeching the marrow from her bones.  The rocking of the carriage mixed with the soft breathing of her companions lull Clara into a daze.  Another village rolls past the window as her eyelids drop.

                _At first it is dark around her.  The deep black stirs a powerful fear in her belly making her limbs shake and a cold sweat drip down her spine.  There are things here that want to hurt her.  There is a man who wants to hurt her._

_Harold slips from the shifting shadows which cling to his skin like thin robes.  Clara is rooted to the spot unable to scream or cry out, no matter how hard she tries.  The Prince's smirk is exactly as it was before.  He can't be here, lavender killed him, she gutted him like the pig he was.  But his smile is the same._

_"You are going to enjoy this."  A hand closes around her throat as another slides between her thighs._

_She squeezes her eyes shut not wanting to see that smirk._

_"Clara."_

_Harold and the darkness are gone replaced by a glowing light and an endless plain of tall grass.  She turns towards the source of the voice her heart rising to her throat.  And there he is smiling up at her._

_John leans back on his elbows watching her openly.  With a strangled gasp that is nearly a sob Clara drops to the ground throwing herself into his arms.  She presses her face into his neck feeling his arms wrap around her, warm and familiar._

_"I miss you."  Clara whispers, pulling back to see his strange color shifting eyes._

_John laughs.  "I have not gone anywhere."_

_She kisses him then, licking into his mouth possessively, nails running through the short hairs at the base of his skull.  He hums pulling her closer, cradling her body against his.  Clara sucks at his lower lip marveling at the sounds John makes.  Sounds she knows from her only night with him.  She kisses alone his angular jaw begging this to be real._

_"You are crying."  John murmurs, touching her wet cheeks._

                Wheels hit a large bump in the road jostling the carriage.  Clara jerks awake pulling away from the window with a start.  Carefully brushing away tears she tries not to let the others see.   They already worry enough as it is and adding 'crying in her sleep' to their list of concerns helps no one.

                The dark tree line of the Lost Woods is much clearer now, the black needles sucking in light.  It seems much creepier this time which is ridiculous all things considered.  How do Jack and Alonso stand living out here?  Though disregarding the Nightmares it is probably nice to be so far away from Violet City.  Free from the politics and the intrigue.

                Clara bites her inner lip thinking; maybe living out here wouldn't be so bad. Simple too, just a cottage and a garden.  She sighs, her breath clouding over the window glass.  A hand squeezes her knee softly.  Clara meets Amy's sad and understanding smile with one of her own.  Threading their fingers together she takes comfort in her friend's simple gesture.  Nothing needs to be said, not with Amy.

* * *

 

                Once they reach the forest's edge another troop of Hunters join Jack and Alonso as their guard.  Clara briefly catches a glimpse of Ada with her snow eyes as they fall into formation around the carriage.  They must have been warned they were coming.  It's a relief to have more protection knowing the things which stalk the Lost Woods.

                Several of the men canter beside the windows to flirt and talk with the girls.  Their eyes never lose their tension however, shifting from one side of the road to the other.  All three women talk amiably with the Hunters, welcome for the distraction.

                Strangely it seems to take longer to reach the river than Clara remembers even if she isn't on foot this time.  The hours pass slowly while she wonders what she's supposed to do when she reaches home.  Will Oswin be in her little village?  How did she explain any of this?  Or did she simply keep moving and now Clara will have to track her down?

                All these questions are starting to make her nauseous. 

                Sunlight begins to show through the branches of the trees ahead.  Clara almost forgot it is still day beyond the cover of the forest.  She sits up straighter.

                "Finally." Martha sighs, speaking for the first time in ages.  "My legs went to sleep some time last season."

                "At least we didn't have to go on horseback."  Amy points out glancing at their guard members outside. 

                Clara's response is cut off when the carriage breaks from the tree line.  The sun suddenly streaming in makes her throw an arm over her face.

                 "Urgh!"  She hisses, blinking furiously.  It is blinding, but slowly her vision normalizes.   

                And there is the bridge. 

                The guard fans out to either side as the carriage pulls to a stop before the intricate white structure.   Clara climbs out with difficulty; all her joints are stiff and sore from being stuck in one position for so long.  At least she isn't wearing one of those silly dresses.  A lilac silk tunic and dark leggings may still not be quite as good as jeans but they are way better than corsets for comfort. 

                "So now what?" Jack calls jumping off his black horse.

                Martha presses down the creases in her lose cream blouse.  "Now she jumps."

                "What that's it?"  Ada says her sightless glaze turned in her direction. "I was expecting more mystical mumbo-jumbo.  No offence."

                "None taken.  But that really is all there is to it.'

                "I've never liked this place."  Mutters Alonso his boyish face pinched in worry as he wraps an arm around his husband.

                "It was the same on my side."  Clara says staring down at the clear water.  This suddenly seems like a truly terrible idea.  She is going to drown.   "No one came near Broken Bridge."

                "My Aunt used to say the laws of nature got mixed up around soft spots."  Amy mumbles.

                "We really do not know much about them, but I have heard that as well." 

                "That's not very reassuring."  Clara states darkly.

                "It will be fine."  Martha's voice is full of authority and she finally gets a glimpse of the powerful head of Order.   "You have already done this once before."

                Clara grumbles, steeling herself and climbing over the railing.  "Yeah and it was so much fun that time."

                The jewel incrusted metal bites into her skin where Clara clings to the side of the bridge.  She doesn't want to do this, but she has to.  Oswin in counting on her, the whole kingdom is.  The water is so clear she can actually see the bottom which is highly disconcerting.  If this doesn't work her neck is going to snap.

                But Martha says this will work and Clara trusts her.

                She closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath.  This is simple - just let go.  Just fall.  All she has to do is fall.

                "I'll get her back."  Clara says and leaps.

                The water is freezing deadening her nerves instantly.  Instinct screams to swim for the surface, to breath, but Clara fights to keep calm.  She lets herself sink feeling the unnatural undercurrent begin pulling at her limp frame.  It drags her down as the world around her fades to black.

                The darkness stretches on forever.  Endless.  And still she sinks. 

                Clara does not need to breath. 

                She does not need to think. 

                She does not need to remember.

                Nothing beyond the black exists, not anymore.

                Then slowly warm yellow light opens up below her.  Suddenly Clara's brain kick starts and she begins swimming down towards it.  Or is she swimming up?  She can't tell.   Lungs start burning desperate for air as Clara drags herself to the sun.

                She breaks the surface gasping.  Air never tasted so good.  Sputtering Clara breathes in as much of it as she can while paddling towards the muddy bank.  Coughing she pulls herself onto dryer land then has to cover her eyes nearly crying out.  Everything is too bright.   The pine needles are violently green and it burns.  The yellow sun is a nuclear explosion of color against her vision.

                "Oh shit. Fuck. Holy crap." 

                Clara curls into a ball on the muddy ground at the visual assault.  It can't have been this vibrant before.  All the colors are set to eleven.  Eyes streaming she forces herself to look up and almost can't believe what she sees.    Old, rickety Broken Bridge looms above her threatening to collapse into the murky river below.

                "Oh my god…"

                Clara is home.


	23. Tempus Fugit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking down Main Street soaked to the bone in her medieval style tunic Clara feels like a ghost, or are the people of this world ghosts to her? The wide store windows reflect back her ashen face as she passes the mom and pop stores that line the one traffic light road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies!
> 
> I feel so bad for taking so long on this update, I'm sorry guys!
> 
> Anyway on with the show!
> 
> Reviews and thoughts are always welcome
> 
> Enjoy :D

**~Tempus Fugit~**

                The colors still burn but Clara can't tear her eyes away from the familiar buildings and streets.  It is like waking up from the deepest dream.  And though she knows that gas station, and she's been to that store a million times, everything seems foreign and strange.

                Walking down Main Street soaked to the bone in her medieval style tunic Clara feels like a ghost, or are the people of this world ghosts to her?  The wide store windows reflect back her ashen face as she passes the mom and pop stores that line the one traffic light road.  She stares at the cars, and the lights, and kids with iPods sitting on street corners with a bizarre sort of hysterical humor.  It is just unbelievable.

                Nothing here is different, _she is_.

                People begin to notice her, and hell it's not like she doesn't standout.  This is probably the most interesting thing to ever happen to this town since its founding.  Clara knows almost everyone in her village and yet they are all staring at her like she is some kind of phantom. 

                Mr. Turner, who owns the hardware store with his faded baseball cap and jeans, stands at his front window, a wrench forgotten in his hand, watching her with his mouth hanging open.   Miss Fields is frozen on the sidewalk across the street, eyes wide walking a dog Clara's never seen before.

                Clara stops in the middle of the two lane road unsure what to do.  Sure she's dressed weird, but not _that_ weird.  This seems bad.

                "Clara?"  A disbelieving voice calls from the entrance to the Rose and Crown dinner where she used to work.

                She turns in time to see Nina flying through the door and running towards her down the front steps.  Her mind freezes before she can speak when she realizes there is something very wrong with this picture.  Very, very wrong.  Nina doesn't work for the Rose and Crown, though she's wearing their red uniform and Nina certainly is not pregnant.   What. The. _Hell_.  Her friend is so far along she actually waddles.

                Nina stops a few feet away confusion and surprise clear on her face.  She dithers on the edge of the sidewalk uncertainly before moving forward.  "What are you doing here?  No one said you were coming home."  She also looks a little leery like Clara is a spooked animal that might bolt at any moment.

                Clara is having a hard time responding.  Her mind is stuck on a repeating track of: wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. 

                "Ughh?"

                Now Nina is really concerned.  Her brow furrows as she glances around at the watching crowd before saying kindly.  "Are you supposed to be out here?  Maybe we should take you to your parents?"

                She jerks back from her friends hesitant touch.  "Nina how are you pregnant?  What- what are you even talking about?"

                "That's what usually happens after marriage."  Nina's eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into her afro.  She can see Clara's bewilderment.  "You remember.  Sam and I got married?  You even came home from the institution for it."

                Woah what?  "The institution?  Wait, you guys weren't even dating the last time I saw you!"

                Nina bites her lip giving Clara a look she's never seen on her before: pity.  "I'm gonna take you home okay?"

                "No!"  She's had about enough of this nonsense to last a lifetime.  "I don't have time to deal with whatever the hell this is right now.  I need to know, have you seen a girl who looks like me?  Her name is Oswin, she probably showed up sometime after I disappeared.  I promise will explain everything to you later, but right now I need to find her."

                "You're - you're looking for Oswin?"

                Clara is surprised by the instant recognition.  A cold realizations runs down her spine and into her veins like deadly ice making her limbs heavy with its weight.  She can hardly bring herself to ask the obvious question.

                "Nina, what year is it?"

                "2017."

                Jesus F'ing Christ!  Three years… she has been gone for three freaking years!.  How - how is that even possible?  She's only been in Shades a few months.  Her mind spirals off in a panic.  What did everyone think happened to her?  Oh god, what did her parents think?  That she was dead? That she drowned years ago?   She's a second from hyperventilating.

                It must show because Nina grabs her by the shoulders forcing Clara to meet her eyes.  "Clara.  Clara, calm down.  I need you to tell me how you got here, what is going on?"

                "This isn't happening to me."  She crushes her eyes shut for a moment forcing herself to breathe.  Forget it, she can freak out later.  It's just one more disaster.  Grabbing onto the arms holding her steady she opens her eyes.  "Nina, where is Oswin?"

                "But you're Oswin… the doctor's said you were schizophrenic."

                Bloody brilliant.  "Look at me: I'm Clara.  Oswin is not me, _I'm_ me.  And I need to find her, where is she?"

                Her old friend gapes at her like a fish on dry land while their audience has grown.  Apparently everyone here thinks she's lost her marbles which is just freaking awesome.  She wants to yell at them, like she's wanted to yell at everyone since John died.  She wants to kick and scream and throw punches, because her life is not a goddamned sideshow attraction.  It's a fucking mess.

                Slow recognition dawns in Nina's eyes as her pupils dilate almost comically.  A breath catches in her throat looking Clara up and down carefully.  She waits for Nina to speak, a surprising smile spreading across her features.  It really is wonderful to see her best friend again.  Clara honestly thought she never would.

                "Oh my god… Clara.  It really is you isn't it?  I always knew there was something wrong.  But - But what the hell?"

                With an elated cry she throws her arms around her neck, hugging Nina tight.  Her excitement takes even her by surprise.  Nina response with equal enthusiasm laughing in disbelief.  Eventually Clara pulls away so she can see her friend's confused smile. 

                "Yeah it's really me.  You are never going to believe what's happened to me and I will tell you everything, but for now, where is Oswin?  What happened to her?"

                Nina takes several steadying breaths.  "They took you - her - to the Leadworth Psychiatric Hospital."

                  This just gets better and better.


	24. Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what I'm not dead!
> 
> I've had a bit of a health crises which prevented this chapter from being updated for so many weeks. But I'm alive and my surgery is scheduled so its all good from here!
> 
> I just left you all hanging and I feels so bad. I'm so sorry guys!
> 
> Only one more chapter + plus a epilogue after this (which will NOT take months to update)

~Reflections~

 

                Surprisingly breaking someone out of a psychiatric ward was not nearly as difficult as it sounds.  Of course, Clara's idea of what counted as difficult had shifted significantly of late.  But still all she had to do was steal a nurse's uniform from the laundry company the hospital used then wait for someone to open the door and just walk right in.

                The place really needs to update its security.  

                Nina stays in the car, a bundle of raw nerves.  Clara tried to convince her to stay home given her condition, but she refused point blank, saying that she had to set things right.  Wonderful sentiment that, except at seven months pregnant there is not much she can do besides waddle menacingly.  Not much help in a jail break.  Still knowing Nina's out there makes Clara feel better; at least someone has her back.

                She decided to wait until after she has Oswin before even attempting to explain things to her parents.  One more circular conversation about metaphysics and magic and her head is going to explode.  Best to leave that for when she has the physical evidence of both of them together were no one can argue about the state of her mental health.  Also Clara honestly doesn't know how to face her family yet.  What do you say?  'Good afternoon, how's the last three years been?  Sorry I haven't aged.'  Right.

                So that leaves Clara standing in the middle of a beige hallway wearing cream scrubs one size too big and wondering what she's supposed to do now.  The burning scents of bleach and pledge multi-surface linger in a chocking cloud under the florescent lighting uncomfortably.  Odd how the smell of sanitizer inspires fear of disease like nothing else.  Coupled with the impersonal color scheme and the cheap linoleum tiles the whole building screams of miserable existence.

                Shivering involuntarily Clara glances left and right down the corridor.  Sure this in no electric shock dungeon of the 1930's, but she can't imagine actually living in this place.  Though considering the generally vacant expressions of the few patients who wonder past her in their light blue robes, they probably have no clue where they are anyway.  Must be quite liberating to live in your own head. 

                Clara decides to follow the direction they are moving figuring there must be some type of common area for the patients to gather.  Hopefully.  She keeps her head down pretending to read from a clipboard she snagged from a desk in case anyone recognizes her face.   The fact that her doppelganger is a known resident is only one of the many major flaws in this plan.  The rest of them could probably fill a book but she's determined to make this work.   As if that makes any difference. 

                Reaching the end of the hall Clara slips through a pair of double doors after a woman with frizzy gray hair.  It seems TV is good for something after all; there really is a patient common room.  Men and women are scattered around the space, sitting in plastic chairs or painting at easels, a few simply stare vacantly out the large bay windows.  A pair of nurses, sipping matching cups of coffee, sit at a table on the opposite end of the room chatting with a small group.

                Careful not to attract their attention she moves quietly into the room.  Scanning the surrounding faces for her own.  It is a remarkably odd feeling to look for yourself in a crowd.  Edging the faded green wall Clara freezes when her eyes land on one of the paintings carelessly tacked to the corkboards. 

                A young woman with long locks of flowing blonde hair and burning golden eyes smiles down at her unaware of how very out of place she is in this world.   The painting itself isn't particularly good rather like if she had done it herself - which makes sense in a way.  Despite the quality of the work the subject was unmistakable.  The Bad Wolf. 

                "Do you like it?" asks a slightly sarcastic voice.

                A shivering chill runs down her spine raising the hairs on her neck and arms.  Taking a steadying breath Clara turns towards the familiar sound.  It is like looking in a funhouse mirror, the features are identical but they are not backwards and reflected like she would normally see herself.   Her reflection's eyes widen and her mouth falls open utterly stunned. 

                Electric tingles race over Clara's skin making her heart pound like a horse at full gallop.   Her stomach twists horribly and her lungs seem to have forgotten what it means to breath.  Every natural instinct in her body is screaming to turn and run in the opposite direction and never stop.   This is wrong.  This is unnatural.   She shouldn't be here, shouldn’t be this close to her double.

                Oswin blinks dumfounded just sort of swaying in place like she might faint at any moment or bolt for the door.  And gods Clara can't blame her, this is freaky as shit.

                "How?" The other girl finally manages to choke out.

                A hysterical laugh crawls its way up Clara's throat despite everything or more likely because of it.  That's just a really big, excellent question isn't it?  "It is a really long story."

                Her doppelganger takes a moment to school her expression into one of totally neutrality in a way which screams royalty.  Careful eyes dart about to make sure no one is watching - the only person near them in a young woman too busy talking to a stuffed rabbit to notice.

                "You are Clara?"  Like the other members of the court she doesn't use conjunctions. 

                "And you must be Oswin." Clara adds wryly.  "I'm here to rescue you."

                "Took you time I see."

                "Yeah well, I kind of had to rescue myself first."  She pauses unsure how much information to dump on the other woman within a minute of meeting her.  "Your father sent me."

                That gets a reaction.  Shock colors her features as she looks Clara up and down as if trying to spot a lie.

                "He's awake."

                "W-What?"  There is vulnerability there, a childlike fear, and Clara can't blame her for it.    Her own time in the palace nearly drove her to insanity; she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to grow up in that snake pit. 

                "He's awake." She repeats softly.   "Your mother - She lost her control over him.  He banished her, she's gone."

                Oswin stares at her a moment before stumbling sideways to collapse into one of the plastic chairs.  Her skin is ashen and Clara wants to comfort her or something, but she can't bring herself to move any closer.  An invisible barrier seems to exist between them which she cannot cross. 

                "I know this is a lot, believe me." Clara says with a nervous glance over at the nurses. "But this isn't the place to discuss it; we need to get you out of here.  I can explain everything later.  I promise."

                Oswin's gaze turns back up to her, clearly overwhelmed.  She's been trapped in this world for years with no sign of hope, no anything.  But after taking a steadying breath her eyes narrow in determination and she nods. 

                Thank god they share the same ability to compartmentalize.  "Then let's blow this popsicle stand."

                Frowning at the word choice Oswin asks.  "Do you have a key card?"

                "Better." She replies as they slip out the double doors and into the hall.  "I stuck tape on the lock."

                The other girl shoots her a questioning glance.

                "It prevents the door form automatically relocking.  We don't need a key card to leave."

                "That's too simple."

                "Most things are." Clara murmurs mostly to herself.  There were a lot of simple solutions she could have done that would have prevented all of this from happening."

* * *

* * *

 

                "That took long enough."  Says a woman too her reflection with a wry grin.

                The eyes of her reflection glow and the Bad Wolf nods.  "As we knew it would."

                Rose raises a delicate eyebrow at the mirror.  "I must say that nursery rhyme you fed Clara was interesting.  We could not have simple told her?"

                "You know as well as I that the future will change by just knowing it.  They would never have found each other."

                The human's face sours.  "A lot of other thing would never have happened either.  This was not fair to her, to either of them."

                The Bad Wolf smiles sadly.  "Nothing is ever fair.  Yet perhaps this will change things."


	25. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has not given much thought as to how Oswin must be feeling by this point and instantly feels guilty. She spent her life in that madhouse only to get trapped in the real thing. Ignoring instinct Clara reaches out and takes Oswin's hand. 
> 
> In that moment the world breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow we finally reached the end (plus the epilogue of course) O_o  
> Thank you to everyone who stuck with me for so long on this crazy story, I love each and every one of you!
> 
> So without further ado...  
> The End....

                Clara does not speak at all during the hike to Broken Bridge with Oswin beside her.  Nina could not make it the hilly trek in her condition so she left them at the trail head.  It was an odd moment with nether woman knowing what to say to the other.  Nina opened and closed her mouth, staring wide eyed at Clara, clearly at a loss.  She knew how Nina felt; it was like saying hello and goodbye again without a moment's pause.  Clara could not leave with just that empty feeling between them so she threw her arms around her friend and hugged her tight. 

                "Tell my parents, well, I don't know … think of something good and tell them I said it."  She smiled.

                "I'll see you again."  Nina whispered squeezing back just as tight.  "I know it."

                Clara nodded, the words caught in her throat.  With that she turned and headed into the woods unable face the moment any longer.  Oswin said something to Nina that she did not quite catch before following her into the gathering twilight. 

                The rickety structure comes into view as the trail bends around a large pine.  The pressing discomfort of the era does not even register this time around.  That prickling pressure sensation has been with her since the second she caught sight of Oswin.  It is a constant itch under her skin like the shock from an electrical socket making the hairs on her arms stand on end. 

                "I remember this." Oswin says shattering the silence built up between them. 

                Clara glances at her questioningly.  The prickling intensifies at their sudden proximity as they both pause on the dirt path. 

                "When I woke up here."  Oswin explains, staring around the surrounding trees intently. 

                Clara turns to face her fully, looking at her mirror image is a shock every time.  Is this what twins feel like all the time?  "Are you ready?"

                Oswin worries her bottom lip absently, staring down at the water below the bridge.  "No. Not really."  She says with a soft sigh.

                She has not given much thought as to how Oswin must be feeling by this point and instantly feels guilty.  She spent her life in that madhouse only to get trapped in the real thing.  Ignoring instinct Clara reaches out and takes Oswin's hand. 

                In that moment the world breaks.

                The sky splits open in a howling storm.  Dark clouds roll impossibly fast across the sky chasing thunder and lightning which forks over the horizon.  Both girls scream at the sonic boom which shakes the air around them.  Sparks of green and gold magic crackle in twirling patterns in the winds, spinning a web in the violent sky. 

                The trees grow, the grass towers, flowers bloom and die over and over.  And Clara can feel it; she can feel Oswin and their power together.  Their eyes lock and they both know.  Together they can do anything, their magic - the magic of two universes and one soul - is unstoppable.

                As suddenly as it begins it stops.

                Clara and Oswin collapse to the ground panting and gasping for air.  Nausea and dizziness and an acute sense of loss threaten to overwhelm her.  Part of Clara's mind she never knew before is missing and she wants it back, badly. 

                "Oh my stars."  Oswin keeps muttering.  "Oh my stars."

                "You felt that right?"  Clara gasps.

                Oswin's wide brown eyes glance up from the boards of the bridge.  She nods. "You have magic too."

                "Yes but I don't know how.  We don’t have magic in my world."  Clara sits back on her heels trying to regain her control of herself.

                "Believe me I have noticed."  The other girl says hollowly, if still a little breathless.

                "Oh my god!  Look at the forest!"  She scrambles to her feet spinning around to take in the increasable sight. 

                "Dear Darkness." Oswin breathes, slowly standing up as well.

                Everything has grown up around the bridge.  The trees are taller and thicker, the bushes and vines have run wild completely obscuring the path.  It looks like a hundred years or more have passed in the space of a few seconds.

                "Even Martha could never do something like this."  Oswin sounds almost fearful and Clara fully understands.

                She is not sure what to say now or what any of this even means.

                "I guess we should go."  Oswin says after a long moment.

                Clara nods. "I'm ready."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Martha, Jack, and Alonso are there to pull them out of the water the moment they break the surface.  Clara flails for a minute still disoriented from the portal.  No matter how many times she does it, it will always be a horrible experience.  Jack catches the back of her tunic with a strong arm and quickly hauls her up and onto the shore.

                A couple of soldiers are giving Oswin the same treatment.  The princess seems even more concussed than Clara feels as she drops unceremoniously onto the gray sand looking faintly green. 

                "That was fast." Jack exclaims as he checks her over for injuries.  Honestly all the jostling is only making her head hurt worse.

                "How long?"  She manages to choke out grabbing his wrist seriously.  God only knows how time could have transferred this time around.

                "Just over an hour." He says, pressing fingers to her skull to check for lumps or whatever it was he is looking for.  "How long was it for you?"

                Clara is about to respond when Oswin starts laughing.  Hysterical laughter shakes her shoulders violently and causes everyone to freeze.  The desperate sound echoes off the black pine trees until it become racking sobs.  Oswin collapses in on herself sobbing with everything she has bottled up for three years.

                Clara watches and wants to cry too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                King Toby runs out of the palace before their carriage has even stopped.  She has never seen so much emotion from him before. 

                "Oswin!  Oswin!" He screams catching his daughter in his arms.  They fall to their knees in an unroyal heap, both hugging too tightly.  Neither of them stops talking long enough to breathe.

                Clara smiles at the sight, but it is slight.  She fulfilled her end of the bargain and now all she wants to do is sleep.  Maybe she will sleep forever or grow old in the library lost among the stacks.  She once longed for adventure but it came at too high a price.  Now all Clara wants is peace. 

                A feast is arranged and a hurried, yet resplendent, ball is announced in their honor for that evening.  Oswin and Clara are whisked off for much needed food, and baths, and clean clothing.  There is a slight confusion at first since she has been living in Oswin's bedroom, but Clara never wants to see it again and is more than happy to escape to the guest wing. 

                Amy, Vastra, and Jenny are with her in a heartbeat with kind words and hot soup.  They simply sit together without speaking for a long time and it is exactly what Clara needs.

                Despite the beautiful beaded-lace gown that hangs just below the knees and glitters in the candle light, Clara does not go to the party.  She cannot.  Instead she descends down worn stone steps leading below the palace.

                The candles seem dimmer here or perhaps it is only an illusion brought on by the dark stone walls.  The palace crypt is vast but Clara knows precisely where he will be.  In a room with an arched ceiling rests the glass coffin which sparkles in the light, displaying the handsome young man within. 

                John looks as though he is only sleeping, as though at any moment he will rise smiling to kiss her again.  And he always will, Martha promised her that.

                Clara approaches the side of the coffin and carefully slides back the crystal.  She touches his cool cheek softly.  "I got all dressed up to see you."  She whispers, tears constricting her voice.  "Do you like it?"

                She wants so desperately for him to answer.

                "I love you."  Clara breathes finally into the silence.  "I always will."

                A soft sound behind her makes Clara jump and spin to face the doorway.  Oswin stands at the entrance to the room flushing slightly at having been caught.

                "I am sorry."  She says sincerely.  "But I thought you might be down here."

                Clara wipes her eyes turning away.  "Did you need something?"  It sounds harsher that she means.

                Oswin pauses and Clara can hear the uncertainty in the silence.  "It is just - I had an idea."  She moves over to stand beside Clara and holds out her hand.  "That is if you are willing to try?"

                Clara stares at her dumbfounded for a moment, barely able to process what the princess is suggesting.  Could it work?  Were they really that powerful?

                "Yes." She says firmly and seizes the out stretched hand.

                This time the world does not break.  This time Clara is focused.  She is focused on one thought and one alone.  Nothing else matters and nothing else exists but that thought.

                Bring him back.

                Slowly Clara closes her eyes and leans over the coffin.  Her warm lips meet John's cool skin and she wills her magic - Oswin's magic - all power that is or ever will be - on that single thought.

                Then a hand touches her cheek, warm lips press back against hers.  John is kissing her back.  Clara gasps letting go of Oswin, eyes flying open in disbelief. 

                "John?" She sobs taking his face in her hands. 

                "Why are you crying?"  John's voice is confused and beautiful and exactly as she remembers.   His gray-blue-green eyes narrow with concern.  "Clara are you alright?"

                She laughs kissing him over and over again.  "Yes.  Yes I'm alright."

                He holds her against him, soothing away her tears of joy and sadness.  Finally John glances around him at the coffin, the crypt, and finally Oswin watching the happy scene quietly. 

                "I think I missed something important." He says slowly. 

                Clara laughs again with the ridiculousness of it all. 

 

 


	26. Epilogue

                 A young girl chases after her older brother outside a small cabin in a meadow.  He calls for her to hurry up as a gilt carriage appears on the road leading to the cabin.   Both children rush to meet the procession as it reaches their garden gates.

                The girl's mother and father step outside their cheerful wooden house just as another woman exists the carriage.   The woman in her beautiful lilac traveling gown with mother of pearl buttons smiles and waves, rushing to hug the girl's parents.   Her tall, dark skinned husband steps out after her with a shy polite nod that makes his crown shine. 

                The woman is the mirror image of her mother and they talk excitedly in the garden. Her father wraps his arms around her mother, kissing her cheek softly.  Her brother joins them to tell them of fish he caught the day before.   The girl sits happily by the fence just listening the stories the woman brings from the palace.  It sounds like such a strange but wonderful place.  But not as wonderful as the place her mother sometimes speaks of.   The place so different from this one. 

                Someday the girl wants to visit that place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks!  
> Let me know what you thought :)


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